One of Our Own
by NorthernStar
Summary: Trying to salvage his friendship with Jack Meadows, Mickey Webb targets Martin Delaney and pays the ultimate price… The final chapter Survival can be read as a stand alone epilogue to 155
1. Playing Against the Book

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Absolutely nothing. I have doubts on my owning anything that might be considered sanity. And I probably wouldn't be here, writing this, had Chris Simmons not been written out and the character of Mickey Webb not been left with huge *huge* amounts of emotional baggage.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: First of all *spoilers* ahead for Aussie fans. Secondly, even though the subject is canon, it's a nasty topic, so read with caution. Thirdly, I don't compensate (much) for the various accents on 'The Bill' so you'll read Mickey talking about his 'muvver' rather than his 'mother.' This isn't just a case of typos or bad spelling, it's just the way it is.

Notes: This started out as just idle 'missing scenes' in my head and just started growing. When I saw The Bill making its long overdue appearance here, I thought I'd write the whole thing. Portions that you recognise are from the episode first shown on 24/9/03, the rest is original material, hopefully they mesh fairly well. There will be more. The next two episodes have much greater room to expand on, but just a hint, if I don't know you're reading…you know?

**One of Our Own I: **

**Playing Against the Book**

_By NorthernStar_

Shaking, shaking, shaking…the pain never dulling, never going away. He couldn't stop trembling. The table dug into his hips and stomach, bruised so badly now that even the slightest movement was torture. But that was nothing compared to the pain in his…

From where Delaney had…

There was silence now, in the warehouse, just faint drip of water through the roof and the small scrapping sounds as he twisted and tugged his arms, working the bindings around his wrists loose. The silence was ugly, closing in, but at least Delaney was gone.

When the bastard had finished, he'd just left, leaving Mickey tied and half naked and sobbing. He didn't say a word.

Mickey had thought Delaney would kill him.

When…_that_…was happening, during it, there had been a moment, a point, where that would have been a relief. Mickey had just wanted it to end. He didn't care how.

It was over now, and numb practicality had taken over. He needed to get free.

Mickey tugged hard with his right hand, wincing at the ache in his shoulder from the unnatural position. The noise echoed in the darkness. He had made so much noise while it was happening, yelling and twisting; trying to get away, the sounds had filled the empty warehouse, booming loudly off the walls.

_I'll make you wish you'd never set eyes on me._ Delaney had said after Mickey arrested him.

He'd heard lot worse over the years. Didn't know what kind of a nutter he was dealing with then._ Is that a threat?_ He snorted unimpressed.

_That's a promise._ His reply was predictable. He looked Mickey right in the face. _I can't wait._

Then he'd been led away to be charged. But it had been a heavy day at the nick, and he'd escaped, claiming to be another prisoner in the chaos of the station. He took another's identity and possessions and just walked out of the station.

And then he'd gone after Rachel Heath; done a real number on her.

Jack had not been pleased…

* * *

_As soon as Mickey got into the station that morning, Meadows wanted to see him. The DCI let him into his office and followed him in._

_Mickey was not looking forward to this conversation._

_"How's Rachel, guv?" He asked._

_Jack's response was cold. "Delaney put her in hospital. How do you think she is?" He demanded. "So, can you explain to me how a prisoner in your custody managed to escape from this nick in broad daylight?"_

_He wasn't about to take that. "Hang on a second; it was sergeant Murphy who accidentally released Delaney from custody, not me, guv."_

_"Sergeant Murphy's been investigated." Jack told him. "Delaney wouldn't have got anywhere near Rachel if you hadn't set this sting up in the first place."_

_"Rachel volunteered." He pointed out. "She wanted to set him up."_

_"Well you're the copper. You should have known better. You used her as bait, left her exposed. That makes you responsible."_

_"And you fink I'd've got 'er involved if I'd known what a nutter this Delaney was, yeah?"_

_"Suppose you think it was just an occupational hazard for somebody like Rachel?"_

_Did Jack really think that little of him? "No, I treated it just like I'd treat any other case."_

_"Oh I find that hard to believe."_

_That hurt. "Oh what you fink I did it deliberately, is that it, yeah?"_

_"You made it pretty clear what you think of our relationship."_

_Mickey didn't even bother answering that. If the guv couldn't see that disliking his boss sleeping with a prostitute and letting his personal feelings get in the way enough to allow an assault to happen to her were two completely different things, then he wasn't going to waste air telling him. _

_Jack opinion of him was practically non-existent right now; he'd made that completely clear over the last few weeks. Mickey could live with that._

_He **could** live with that._

_"Delaney stole two credit cards from a Frankie Taylor in custody." He said, bringing the conversation back to business. "Chances are he's used them by now."_

_Jack wasn't about to let go of his anger just yet. "Don't rely on chances, Mickey. You wanna get out there and find him." He looked hard at his officer. "See if you can repair some of the damage you've caused."_

_Mickey knew he wasn't just talking about Rachel._

* * *

_After two hours, Mickey had something else to go on. Delaney's mother lived in Sun Hill and with DS McAllister drove out to see her. Debbie was in funny mood, digging for information about the woman Jack Meadows was seeing. Even as he deflected her fishing, it struck him as odd that, even though the whole nick knew he and Meadows were having problems seeing eye to eye, he was still top of the list when it came to information on the DCI._

_Mrs Delaney was sweet old dear, totally oblivious to her son's time in jail and criminal record. She proudly told them how he worked in sales, up in Edinbrough and that he'd taken her to __New York__ one weekend._

This is my Martin, _she said, showing them a photo, absolutely convinced they'd mistaken her son for someone else. They went through the motions, telling her to get in contact with them if he showed up, knowing she wouldn't. Then they left._

_Outside, Mickey walked off his frustration. "She didn't have a clue, did she? Delaney fed her a pack of lies." He thought of his own mum, killed in a hit and run not long ago. "What sorta geezer does that to his own muvver?"_

_Debbie hurried to keep up. "What is it with this guy? He's got under everyone's skin."_

_He knew she meant Meadows, but even as he prepared himself to fend off more of her questions, he saw his car in the car park. There was something on the bonnet, brown and cracking. "What's that?"_

_The van parked along side his car started up. The window was open and Mickey instantly recognised the man behind the wheel. "That's Delaney!" He broke into a run. "Oi!" _

_He pounded after the car, barely registering Debbie's voice behind him._

_"All units from DS McAllister…" _

_He managed to thump the side of the van as it raced away. _

_"Attention requested to a red van."_

_He turned back to Debbie. "Did you get it?"_

_"Registration number: __Lima__ 4 0 7 Golf, Uniform, Charlie."__ She spoke into the radio, answering his question._

_Mickey walked back to his car and gapped at the acid hissing on the bonnet and the smashed windows. "What is this?"_

_Debbie was still on her radio. "The driver is suspect Martin Delaney."_

_"What is going on here?"_

_Debbie examined the damage. "Looks like the feelings mutual for this guy."_

_Mickey kicked the car._

* * *

_An area car gave them a lift back to the nick. Debbie was yapping about something the whole time, but his attention was elsewhere. Delaney had wrecked his car and he had taken time to wait for Mickey's reaction. Waited to see Mickey's face and make sure he knew just who was responsible._

_Or was that just paranoia?_

_At the nick, PC Best brought Juliet an assault case. Neither Mickey nor Debbie took much notice of their conversation until the name of the victim, Jane McGowan, was mentioned._

_Mickey came over. "Jane McGowan?" _

_"We interviewed her yesterday." Debbie clarified._

_"Who is she?" __Gary__ asked._

_"Wife of Eddie McGowan."__ Juliet told him. "He was in prison with Martin Delaney."_

_"Eddie McGowan's gone missing." Debbie added._

_"They haven't got CCTV but a witness description says he was six one, blonde hair, average build."_

_"Hang on a second." Mickey went to his desk and grabbed a photo. He held it out. "Matches Delaney."_

_"Right then."__ Debbie decided. "I'd better get the DCI."_

_The whiteboard now had another photo and Jack waited until Debbie finished scrawling the new information onto it before he addressed the small team of officer's gathered around the board. While not pleased that Delaney had stabbed another woman, it did mean with two victims on his file, the search would now be stepped up._

_And Rachel would get justice._

_Jack looked around at his officers. "So why is Delaney after McGowan's wife?" _

_Debbie started in on the easy stuff. "He was inside with Eddie McGowan." _

_"Delaney told me McGowan stood by and did absolutely nothing while he was assaulted." Mickey added. He had spoken a lot with Delaney while they'd had him in custody and probably knew him best. "Delaney reckons he owes him."_

_Juliet looked at him. "Well, maybe Delaney decided to call in the debt from the wife."_

_That was the most likely assumption, especially as Eddie was no where to be found. "And Eddie McGowan is still missing?" Jack asked._

_Debbie nodded. "Yeah, Jane filed a missing person's report a couple of months ago and she said it was very unlike him to just go off like that."_

_"Yeah, but Delaney has had some contact with McGowan." Mickey pointed out. "I mean, he had his wallet." And for a while, he had used his identity. With Rachel and the other prostitutes he stole from. _

_Jack frowned. "D'you think Delaney's killed him?"_

_"It's looking that way." Debbie said._

_He didn't like the sound of that. If Delaney had moved on to killing, it was possible that Rachel was still in danger. "Well, Delaney said that Rachel Heath had crossed him so she owed him a dept."_

_Juliet frowned. "What? So this is about revenge?"_

_If it was then Delaney might have other targets. "Let's have a look at his prison records." Jack decided. "See if he made any more enemies when he was inside."_

_"He hasn't used the credit cards he stole yesterday." Debbie told him. "So maybe that's our best lead."_

_Jack thought of another possibility. "Do you still think he's gonna go back to his mothers?"_

_"Not now he's seen us there." Mickey said._

_Jack frowned, reminded of the damage to Mickey's car. "Is it getting personal?"_

_"Against me?"__ Mickey shook his head. "Nah, he seems to play games against every character he comes across."_

_"Well, he's a dangerous man." Jack warned. "So no heroics, eh? We play everything by the book."_

* * *

Which he hadn't, had he? Going after Delaney without back-up and now….

Now he was going to be paying the price for the rest of his life.

* * *

_Mickey grabbed lunch in the canteen and got updated about what was happening with Eva. He didn't spare much of a thought for Delaney until he got back to his desk. He went to get out his notes to go over a few points, but the book was gone. It wasn't on his desk, on the floor, nor on Debbie's desk or in his pocket._

_Bugger._

_He gave up looking when Debbie got off lunch and told him Jane McGowan had been certified fit to talk to the police. They went to the hospital and into the small dark room where Jane McGowan lay. She looked pale and tired and when she spoke, it was clear she was still in a fair amount of pain. But despite this, she did her best to answer their questions._

_It didn't take long for Jane to describe her attacker. It fitted Delaney to a T._

_"Well done, Jane." Mickey murmured._

_Now they were certain it was Delaney who stabbed her, they told her his name and asked if she knew of any connection between Eddie and Martin. After a moments thought, the only thing she could remember was that her husband had mentioned him. They'd shared a cell in prison._

_As they were leaving, they met Meadows, who was following up on a Delaney sighting from Rachel Heath. She was still in the hospital following her attack and thought she'd seen him on the ward. Debbie immediately offered to see her instead, but Jack had insisted._

_Mickey just nodded, trying not to care that Jack was still in complete denial over his relationship with Rachel. So his DCI was sleeping with a tom? If they both kept their mouths shut, no one would know. And hopefully Jack would come to his senses._

_He ignored Debbie's questioning looks and went to the loo. He realised later she must have followed the DCI and seen him with Rachel._

* * *

_Debbie came up behind him as he read through a case file. "What do you know about Rachel Heath?" She asked, in that oh-so-casual tone of hers._

_Mickey had heard it all before and wasn't biting. "No more than you do."_

_"Well she was your snout originally, wasn't she?"_

_"Yeah."_

_"What sort of escort is she?"_

_He moved a little away. "What do you mean?" He could do casual too. Only better._

_"High class?__ Pick 'em off the street? What?"_

_"Dunno. High class, I fink."_

_Debbie looked over his shoulder. Woman always made a big deal over personal space but they weren't shy about invading it when they thought they could get what they wanted. "So what's the DCI's special interest in her case?"_

_"He hasn't got one."_

_"Come on, he's not that usually hand-ons, is he?"_

_Mickey moved around to face her. This was more than a fishing trip. He sighed. "You know, don't you?"_

_A big_ 'bingo' _light went on across her face. "Come on, Mickey, dish the dirt."_

_"Leave it out, sarge." But he knew the request was pointless. "I ain't saying nothing."_

_"I saw them, kissing." She didn't seem to need much of a response to gloat. "I knew he was seeing someone, but a tom?" She snorted, enjoying her secret. "How long's that been going on for?"_

_Mickey was close to loosing his patience. "I told you, I'm keeping schtum."_

_Debbie couldn't contain her joy. "Poor old Jack…"_

_Mickey looked up from his file. "You ain't gonna say anything to him, are you?" He asked. If Jack found out she knew, he'd assume Mickey was the source of that information. "I'm in enough trouble as it is."_

_She put her face up close to his. "Maybe." She said, "maybe not."_

_Mickey sighed and decided the day really couldn't get any worse._

* * *

Oh but it had, hadn't it?

His wrists were nearly free now, slicked by his sweat and beads of blood seeping through his abraded skin.

It was getting darker. How long had he been here?

And colder.

* * *

_It got worse. The courier delivered a small brown packet to Mickey who tossed it on his desk and had a cup of coffee before he returned to open it. He pulled out the contents and saw his notebook. And a piece of paper with a short message written in red felt tip pen -_

YOU SHOULD BE MORE CAREFUL DC WEBB

REGARDS

MARTIN DELANEY

XX

_He felt a chill run through him. More paranoia?_

_"Everything all right?"_

_Jack's voice sounded at his ear and he held out his notebook. "That just came by courier. It's my notebook – from Delaney."_

_Jack took the book and letter. "Well how did he get it?"_

_"I've no idea. Maybe he got it when he smashed the motor up."_

_Jack read the words. Mickey found the kisses disturbing. "What's he playing at?"_

_"Hang on; I'm sure I've used that." Mickey frowned. "After he smashed the car up." He shrugged. "Well, I might have dropped it or something."_

_Jack looked at him. "Or maybe he's following you."_

_Mickey felt cold, walked around the DCI. "He's trying to mess with my head, ain't he?"_

_"Still don't think it's personal?"_

_Mickey looked at his governor and was surprised to see the concern there. "He's a nutter and the sooner he's in the nick the happier I'll be." He tossed his notebook down. "I'm gonna get on to those credit card companies."_

_"Good idea."_

* * *

_It was nearly five in the afternoon before he got the call he was waiting for. Mickey thanked the guy he was talking to and shoved his mobile back into his pocket. The DCI was by his desk when he went to grab his jean jacket._

_"Did you get a result?" Jack asked._

_"Delaney used a stolen credit card at Larkmead Station." Mickey told him, shrugging into his jacket. "He bought a ticket."_

_"Right.__ Get down there. Talk to the sales clerk. Find out what train he's on and call it back in."_

_Mickey nodded, "this could be it, guv."_

_He hurried down the stairs and out of the nick, feeling the hum of adrenaline through his veins. Catching Delaney probably wouldn't heal the rift between him and Jack, but it might go some way to patching it over. He could work on the rest later._

_He respected Meadows far too much not too._

_The home going traffic wasn't as bad as he expected and he got to the station within an hour. Finding a parking space proved more difficult, but when one became available, it was right outside._

_The woman behind the desk was bottle blonde and a little 'well covered' as his mum liked to say. She smiled sweetly at him; fancying her chances and told him her name was Paula. She left him stone cold, but he kept up the conversation as she sorted through credit slips._

_"'Ere it is."__ She held out the small PDQ carbon copy. "That'd be a single to __Watford__ Junction."_

_"When's the next train?"_

_"__Seven forty three__." She snorted. "Don't expect it to be on time, though."_

_"Cheers." _

_He hurried out the station, dialling his mobile as he walked. He was almost at his car when he heard Jack answer._

_"Guv, its Mickey."__ He said. "Delaney brought a ticket for the __7:43__ to __Watford__ Junction."_

_"Well done, Mickey." There was a hiss on the line. "M…key? You're br….ng up."_

_Mickey covered his free ear, trying to blot out the sounds of the traffic. "Ay?"_

_"You've got….an hour so stay put…..plainclothes…come and give you a hand."_

_"Listen, guv, the signal's dodgy. I can't hear you properly."_

_"Mr Webb!"_

_Mickey looked up at the yell. Across the street stood Delaney, smile on his face, brazen as anything. Mickey broke into a run the same moment as Delaney, who disappeared around the corner and into the Larkmead industrial estate._

_"Hey!" Mickey yelled, as he pounded after him, into the alleys between the huge buildings. The warehouses by the station were mostly empty, abandoned years ago. The only thing they housed these days were druggies and prostitutes. The alleyways between were narrow and overgrown, interconnected._

_"Hey!" Racing around a corner, he almost lost Delaney, then saw a flash of movement in the doorway of an empty warehouse. He was up the step in a second._

_Inside, it was dark and quiet. The silence was broken only by the drip of water through the holes in the roof. Mickey looked around, seeing nothing but the rubbish left behind when the place was abandoned. The huge space was sectioned with clear plastic blinds, like the kind found in industrial refrigeration units and there were metal shelving units and some tables still there._

_Mickey got out his phone, but the signal failed and the mobile bleeped pathetically at him. "Oh, come on…" _

_He needed back-up._

_He needed to get Delaney._

_There was a noise ahead of him and he walked further into the warehouse, scanning the darkness for movement. _

_"There's no where to go now, Delaney." He called out._

_No answer. He moved around to shelves and rubbish, knowing that was big enough to hide someone as large as Delaney._

_Something clanged behind him, like metal against metal. Mickey turned and saw Delaney coming up behind him. He tensed immediately into a defensive posture, ready for anything._

_"I thought I made it clear." Delaney said as he walked towards Mickey. "I'm never going back to prison."_

_Mickey watched his movements closely. "S'bit late for that now, ain't it?"_

_Delaney chuckled._

_"Something funny?"_

_"You shouldn't have said those things to my mother." Delaney told him. "You really upset her."_

_Mickey was beginning to wish he had his ASP. "Truth hurts, doesn't it?"_

_"She's been through a lot recently." Delaney sounded so normal, like this was an every day conversation, slowly coming forward all the time. "She had cancer. It's not nice to watch your own mother go through that."_

_"Shut up!" Mickey didn't like thinking of that lonely old lady. He wanted Delaney in cuffs. And in the nick. "This is over now." Delaney had moved around now, standing behind a table. "Keep your hands where I can see 'em as well. Hands where I can see 'em!"_

_And he did see them - moving in a blur, something heavy in their grip. He heard the sickening thud of the spade against his skull a millisecond before the pain exploded across his face. He stumbled back, trying, trying, trying to stay on his feet. Stay in the moment._

_Then he collapsed, cold hard floor coming up to meet him._

_He saw Delaney over him and then everything went black._

* * *

_Consciousness returned slowly, and more as an awareness of discomfort than anything tangible. There was something hard pressing against his stomach, the edge of which was digging into his hip bones. It was solid beneath his cheek, hard against his jawbone and his arms felt wrong, like they shouldn't be where they were. His legs felt oddly numb, like he'd been sitting on them for a long time and the circulation had stalled, but he knew the ground was still beneath his feet, even if it felt like he was lying._

_There was a scraping noise in the background, pulling him awake and when he opened his eyes he saw rope being wound around a vice. The dull metal scraping and clanking as it was turned, the bar slide up and cranked further around. That was when the pain in his wrist registered and the rope had context._

_He was bound face down on a table, tied by the wrists, arms spread out either side of him. He braced his feet on the floor and pushed up. He succeeded only in wrenching his shoulder painfully._

_"Welcome back, DC Webb." Delaney said. "For a moment there, I thought you were going to miss the best part."_

_He looked up at the bastard, but with his face pressed against the table; Mickey could only see him at the corner of his eyes. "Wh-what are you doing to me?"_

_He smiled and wound the vice tighter. "Just making you a little more comfortable." _

_Mickey twisted and pulled but the ropes held firm._

_Delaney came round. "I've been looking forward to seeing you again, DC Webb." He leaned over his captive. "Or should I call you Mickey?"_

_Mickey struggled hard against the bindings, thumping and rebounding on the table. The hard surface dug into his ribs. "Whatever you're gonna do, you're not gonna get away with it, Delaney!" He yelled, hearing the panic in his own voice._

_Mickey's phone rang. He felt Delaney slide his fingers into his back pocket, almost like a caress, and tugged the phone out. He looked at the mobile._

_"We don't want any interruptions now, do we?" He dropped the phone on the floor. Then he stamped on it. "Whoops."_

_"I've already radioed my position." Mickey bluffed desperately. "There's gonna be police swarming around here any minute."_

_Delaney held his hands up and looked around. "I can't hear anything can you?"_

_"They'll be here, I promise you." There were tears in his eyes and more fear than he'd ever felt in his life. _

_"Oh you seem very certain."_

_"Wait, wait, wait!" He yelled, buying time. "What've we got on you, ay?" His heart was racing but he was still thinking. "An assault… a theft?"_

_"First it was Rachel, then it was the lovely Jane." Delaney taunted. "Well now it's your turn."_

_Mickey struggled harder than ever, tugging against the restrains, giving into panic._

_He stalked around behind Mickey. "I've been thinking of you, Mickey."_

_"If you do anything to a copper, they're gonna put you away, forever and ever." He was crying now. "I promise you. I promise you that."_

_Delaney began stripping down his jeans and Mickey screwed his eyes shut tight. _

_"Know what I'm gonna do to you, Mickey? Have you guessed yet?"_

_"Get away from me, you bastard!"_

_His underwear followed and he heard Delaney fumbling with his own clothes._

_This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening._

_"I'm gonna do your arse. You're gonna be screaming."_

_Mickey kicked out behind him but the ropes held him firm and he with his jeans down around his knees, he wasn't able to put any power behind the kicks. _

_"You're gonna bleed for me too." Delaney gloated. "You gonna enjoy that?"_

_Mickey felt the touch of warm skin to his own, his legs forced apart. He was sobbing hard now, in a panic._

_"You shouldn't have come after me, Mickey. You shouldn't have upset my mother."_

* * *

His hands at last pulled free and he slide down the table and onto the floor. The pain at the base of his spine spiked on contact with the hard ground and he sobbed, crying out. He lay like that for long moments.

Then Mickey forced himself up into a sitting position, pulled his legs up to his body and wrapped his arms around his knees. His head ached from the blow and he was shaking so hard, as much from the cold as the shock. He could hear his own breathing.

Time passed. He wasn't sure how much.

Then in the distance, he heard something.

_"Mickey!"_

It sounded like his name.

He didn't answer.

* * *

To be continued…


	2. Secret

Notes: Some of the content here formed part of the episode shown on 2/10/03. The larger part of the story is original and is meant to fill the gaps before, after and during the show. I really can't do justice to Chris Simmons performance here, particularly in the first scene (with Smithy) and the last (with Jack) of the episode. Really excellently done by the actor and there's just no way I can emulate that.

* * *

**One of Our Own II:**

**Secret**

_By NorthernStar_

Jack's mobile phone rang just as he was leaving his office. Digging it out, he answered and heard his best DC's voice echo on what sounded like a very bad line.

"Guv, its Mickey." Webb said, "Delaney bought…ticket for….7:43…Watford Junction."

"Well done, Mickey." There was the sound of static blotting out the rush of traffic. "Mickey? You're breaking up."

"Ay?"

Jack struggled to hear him. "You've got about an hour so stay put," he told him. "And I'll get some plainclothes come and give you a hand."

"List…, guv, the signal…gy. I c….properly."

His phone bleeped, announcing the loss of connection. Jack closed his phone and put it in his pocket.

This was it. They were going to get Delaney.

* * *

Now that it was nearly seven in the evening, Sun Hill's main road system wasn't so choked of cars, and Jack got to Larkmead station in good time. He saw Mickey's car, but had to park further up the road and walk back. He expected to see the blonde haired detective waiting there for him.

Sighing, Jack got out his mobile and called. After several rings, it almost sounded like someone had answered, but it clicked over to the answer phone a second later.

"Mickey, its Jack." He said as soon as he heard the beep. "Where are you? I'm at Larkmead station. I'm near your car. When you get this message, call me."

Hanging up, he admitted to himself he was little worried. Mickey had a tendency to jump right in at times, and he'd been intensely focused on catching this man.

And, Jack could admit, he had something to do with that.

But with Mickey there or not, they had a man to catch so Jack returned to the train station and began co-ordinating the watch. He had a number of plainclothes officers milling about the platform and another two who'd got on the Watford train at the last station, just in case they missed Delaney or he managed to give them the slip as the train was leaving.

The old train chugged into the station at 7:39, and left on the dot of 7:43, something of a small miracle these days, and Jack had to admit defeat.

No Delaney.

At they left the station, Jack pulled out his mobile. The signal bars were strong, just…no call from Mickey. He couldn't help thinking that Mickey's disappearance, and Delaney's, were connected. Passing anxiety racked up another notch to all out worry.

"I don't like this." He told Sergeant Smith. "No sign of Delaney or Mickey."

"Maybe he got a lead, guv."

"Then why didn't he call it in?"

Smithy shrugged. "Outta range, maybe?"

"Maybe." Jack put his mobile back into his pocket. "Right, I want everyone here, out there, looking for Mickey. And if you can find Delaney while you're at it, I'd be grateful. I'm going back to the nick. Keep me informed."

"Sir."

* * *

It was getting dark and the temperature was dropping rapidly when Smithy made his way through the industrial estate. He shone his torch down several alleyways and called out.

"Mickey!"

The only thing he'd come across in the last hour and an half was a old wino who thought the sergeant was looking for the Disney character and felt the need to tell him how much he hated mice. Smithy gave him directions to the nearest shelter for the homeless, but even as he walked away, he knew the old man wouldn't go.

Ducking down yet another overgrown alley, Smithy called out again. "Mickey!"

He walked further down, swinging his torch through the shadows. He reached for his radio.

"Sierra Oscar from five-four?" He spoke into it.

"Go ahead, five-four."

"No sign of DC Webb so far."

"Received, five-four."

Smithy walked slowly passed the door to the warehouse. That was when he heard a clank. He focused the torch beam into the dark warehouse and flicked out his ASP. There were a hell of lot of drug gangs in this part of Sun Hill. He started cautiously forward. The torch beam fell on white rope hanging down, stuck in a vice, the end tied into a loop.

There was a noise a little way to the side, a shuffle/clank. He turned, moving the beam around, and through the dirty blinds saw a vague shape. The torch light caught on the huddled figure's blonde hair.

"Mickey?"

"Get out!" The voice was harsh, almost rasping, but still unmistakably Mickey's.

He squinted at the man sitting, knees pressed up to his chest. A sick note crept through his gut as he saw his clothes were loose, undone, revealing a strip of bare flesh.

"Are you OK?"

"Just get outside!" Mickey's voice cracked. "M'okay. Wait outside."

Smithy swallowed, but lowered the torch and went outside. Stomach churning as the copper in him was slowly putting two and two together. He put his head back against the shingle walls of the warehouse and let out a breath.

What he'd seen…

But he couldn't be sure…

* * *

Mickey had tried to keep quiet, keep still. But he was shaking so hard now that it was impossible. As he had sat there, listening to Smithy calling his name in the alley outside, he all but prayed that the sergeant would just walk on and not look inside. He didn't want anyone to see this.

See what had happened.

He'd been able to stop Smithy from coming too far in. Now he just had to move.

Stiffly he buckled his jeans then braced himself, both mentally and with his hands on the floor, to stand up. Pain flared in the torn tissue of his anus and he was pretty sure he was still bleeding back there.

He wobbled the moment he was standing, cold and shock clumsying his limbs in equal measure. Walking was every bit as unpleasant as he'd thought and he felt wetness pool in his underwear. He moaned softly.

Stumbling outside, gasping air as he walked, he found Smithy waiting for him just outside the door.

"You all right?"

"Yeah." The word came out on a breath.

"You were supposed to meet the DCI at the station."

"Yeah…Yeah…" He was shaking so badly he could barely get the words out. "Delaney showed up here early."

Smithy frowned. "Are you hurt?"

Mickey continued to shake. "I f-fink he's…I fink 'e's hit me over the 'ead with something. I dunno…" He pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead, trying to ease the ache and the confusion. "I d-dunno what's 'appened…"

* * *

Smithy grew even more concerned. His worry spiked when Mickey touched his own head, revealing a mess of scraps and bruises around his wrists. Smithy immediately reached out to examine the damage. "Did he tie you up?"

Mickey flinched back, snatching his hands away. "Nah-no…"

The out right lie and the worry that Mickey might have more injuries spurred Smithy to a decision. "I'm gonna call you an ambulance."

Mickey's shivering increased. "No...No…M'fine. M'fine, okay?"

Smithy didn't believe him. Why hide if there was nothing wrong? "Why didn't you call for back-up?"

"He-he smashed my mobile."

"I fink you need to get checked out, mate."

"Listen, he's just smacked me about a bit. M'all right, okay?" His voice, still trembling, turned a little desperate. "You give me a lift home, yeah?" He leaned in a little, "and don't say anything about this, all right?"

Friendship won out over the copper in him. "I need to let CAD know that you're all right."

"Okay…" Mickey nodded. "Okay…just don't make a big fing about this."

Smithy looked at the sweating, shivering man in front of him and nodded. "Yeah…all right."

He hoped he saw some of the tension ease on Mickey's face. At least he'd done that much to help his friend.

"Okay…"

Then the DC began walking back down the alley, movements stiff, almost stumbling. Mickey kept one hand against the fence, steadying himself.

Smithy watched him for a moment then reached for his radio.

"Sierra Oscar from five-four?"

"Go ahead, five-four."

"I've located DC Webb." He said, and knew he should report Mickey's condition, but found himself lying. "He's okay, over."

"Received. We'll inform the DCI."

"I'm gonna take him home."

"Understood."

Smithy sighed, regretting his words already. He knew he should insist on the ambulance. Mickey was clearly in shock.

But he only had vague suspicions, and he trusted Mickey to be a good enough copper to know if he needed help. Besides which, Smithy knew what it was like to find yourself out of your depth with a suspect, the embarrassment of not being able to handle it. If Delaney had roughed him up a bit more than Mickey was proud to admit, then Smithy could understand that.

But there had been ropes…

And Mickey was…

Shaking the thought away, Smithy began to follow Mickey out of the industrial estate. Catching up with the DC was depressingly easy. Mickey was still shivering, his face tense with discomfort, movements awkward and pained. Smithy wanted to offer him a hand, but he knew it wouldn't be welcome, so he just stayed at his friend's side, ready to catch him if he fell.

Fortunately the panda wasn't too far away and they got there without incident. Smithy opened the passenger door for Mickey and the young man slumped into seat with an audible moan.

Smithy frowned, kneeling down to Mickey's level. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah…yeah…just need to take some painkillers."

"I could drive you down to St Hughes right now. Only take a couple of minutes."

"I said no, all right?" He rubbed his forehead. "M'okay…"

"Don't look it, mate."

Mickey let his head fall back against the seat. "Just give it a rest, yeah?"

Smithy stayed silent for a moment.

Mickey opened his eyes and lifted his head. "You takin' me home, or what?"

Sighing, Smithy stood up and closed the passenger door. He walked around and got into the driving seat.

"I'm just worried about ya."

Mickey settled back again, eyes closed. "Yeah, well don't be, all right? I'm okay."

Smithy put the car in gear and pulled out onto the road. As he drove, he was aware of the man still trembling beside him, even though the car was quite warm. Concerned, Smithy cranked the heating up to full blast. Hot air began blasting out the vents, turning the panda into a small furnace. It wasn't long before Smithy was sweating in his uniform and flax jacket, but it was worth it to see the dreadful shuddering in his friends body ease up.

He risked a glance over at him at the traffic lights and saw Mickey wipe most of the sweat and grim from his face with the sleeve of his jacket. Between that and the warmth in the car, Mickey now looked a little less shocked and cold.

* * *

Jack was getting seriously worried. He'd tried Mickey's mobile several times in the last couple of hours, but with no success. Unable to sit in his office and read through reports, he'd finally got up and started asking about the nick, but no one had seen Mickey.

After yet another "not seen 'im, guv" he knew the frustration he felt was evident. Gary Best had said "he looks how I feel" after he'd asked him.

Then one of the CAD officers said he'd been found.

He tried not to be bothered by the amount of relief he felt.

* * *

The car ride was mostly silent, something which Mickey was grateful for. He really didn't have the energy left to talk and he couldn't face questions. He just hunched in the chair, surrounded by the heat, trying not to let out a moan at discomfort. Every bump in the road jarred his bruises and sitting was painful. He could feel the damp trickle of blood and god knew what else in his underwear. The sensation was disturbing and sickening but with a strangely cold logic, he found he was glad he'd worn black jeans today. Like a girlfriend had once confided, it made leaks a lot less noticeable.

When the pulled up outside Mickey's flat, Smithy insisted on walking him right to the door. Once inside, he headed straight for the bathroom cabinet and pulled out the strongest painkillers he had. He swallowed two down and then took the first aid kit out.

He knew he should go to hospital; he'd taken enough male rape victims into casualty himself to know how important it was to get medical attention. But he couldn't face that. And he was pretty sure the bleeding had stopped.

He removed his jeans and began cleaning the area, applying antiseptic as tears of pain rolled down his cheeks. When he'd finished, he removed the rest of his soiled clothes and ran himself a bath.

Getting in, he sat and washed until the water was cold, then emptied and refilled the bath with more water and began the process again. He scrubbed until his skin hurt, stopping only because he ran out of shower gel. He pulled the plug again, watching as more forensic evidence disappeared down the drain. Then he stood up, pulled up the knob on the taps and took a shower. It was mostly cold water, but he didn't care.

When he couldn't stand the chill anymore, he finally got out and wrapped himself in a towel. He sat on the loo and shivered for a while before getting up and drying himself off. When he was finished, he tugged on clean underwear and a shirt and set about bleaching the bath. He cleaned it as desperately as he'd cleaned himself; distantly aware of the futility of what he was doing - kneeling on the bathroom floor, rubber gloves on, scrubbing toilet bleach into an already clean bath.

When he finished, he threw his dirty towels in the bin and went to chuck his dirty clothes in after it.

His hand stopped.

Evidence.

No matter what, the ingrained, virtually in-bred, copper in him wanted to preserve the evidence. So he went into the kitchen, grabbed a black bag from under the sink and scooped his clothes into it. He tied the top, threw the bag into a cupboard and went to wash his hands.

It was nearly half past two in the morning when he finally got to bed. Laying there, the light still on, tremors occasionally chasing up and down his frame, Mickey stared up at the ceiling. With nothing to do now but think, his mind began to race, surrounding him with the ghost smell of Delaney's body, flashing on the rape, playing it over and over until finally…_finally_, the tears came and he was sobbing softly to himself.

He didn't sleep.

* * *

Jack went straight to Mickey's desk when he got to the nick that morning. He was surprised to see the chair empty and the computer screen off. The coat stand by the door had a couple of jackets on it, but none was recognisable as one of the skinny jean jackets Mickey always wore.

Jack frowned, annoyance at the DC slacking over riding the thread of concern left over from last night. He knew it really wasn't like Mickey to be late. He tended to get into work early at the best of times, particularly in the middle of a case, but even more so in the last few weeks; since his mother had been killed.

Grief could do that to you.

He looked over when the door opened, but saw it was Danny Glaze arriving, not Mickey.

"Have you seen Mickey?"

Danny shrugged out of his jacket. "Not since yesterday, guv."

"Well, if you see him before I do, tell him I want a word."

* * *

Smithy had slept badly that night, tossing and turning in his bed, troubled by what he'd seen and the immediate suspicions that had sprung up. How his stomach turned to see Mickey like that and the wrench of horror inside as his mind began to make sense of the fragments of information.

And yet Mickey swore nothing had happened beyond a beating. He knew he should believe his friend, for Mickey's sake. Because that was the way he wanted it. He owed it to his mate to do that. But Smithy found his mind kept coming back to his initial gut reaction.

Mickey, who taken more than his fair share of thumpings over the years that never seemed to affect him, shocked and shaking and half dressed, yelling at him to get out, desperate to keep what had happened a secret.

And then there was Delaney. A thief and a violent man, but this… That wasn't in his MO. He finally fell asleep, resolving to talk about what happened with Mickey at some point during the day.

Despite that, he found he was unprepared to field questions on Mickey's behalf. The DCI caught him just as he was entering the nick.

"Smithy!"

He stopped and turned.

Jack Meadows frowned. "What happened to Mickey last night?"

Smithy's stomach clenched. "Erm…I picked 'im up at that warehouse on the industrial estate."

"And Delaney?"

"Yeah…er…Mickey chased 'im but he got away. It's-it's like a warren round there."

"Is Mickey all right?" Meadows voice was a little concerned. "'cause he hadn't turned up this morning."

Smithy keyed his security number into the nick door so he wouldn't have to look Jack in the eyes when he lied. "Yeah…he's fine. I took 'im home meself."

"So why didn't he radio in?" On that reassurance, he was all procedure now. "I mean, half the nick were looking for him last night."

"His mobile broke."

"Well get someone to call him. Tell him to drag himself in and finish the job he started last night."

"Sir."

Smithy went into the station. While he had hated lying to Meadows, Smithy knew he do it again in an instant. He always stuck by his mates. That was part of being a copper.

He called Mickey's flat himself, trying not to worry, but he got only the answer phone. The confident voice on the recording sounded odd to him now. As he hung up, he told himself that Mickey was probably on his way in, maybe stuck in traffic.

Or maybe…maybe he'd gone to the hospital.

A stab of fear sliced him.

Maybe Mickey _had_ too.

* * *

Mickey got up as soon as it was light. He spent over an hour in the bath, using the squirty liquid kitchen soap to wash with since he'd run out of everything else, trying to scrub away the smell and taint on his skin, stumbling out only when he couldn't stand the cold water anymore. Shivering, he sat on the toilet and applied more antiseptic to his anus, wincing when his nail reopened a tear. When he pulled his hand away, he saw spots of blood and mucus colouring his fingers and had to fight to keep from vomiting.

The whole process was filthy, and degrading, and painful.

But necessary.

He washed his hands thoroughly before going back into his bedroom to dress. Mickey grabbed the first clothes to hand, battered blue jeans and a white T. He buckled the trousers tightly around his waist but found the top uncomfortably thin. He pulled out a green zip-up and shrugged that on too, zipping it all the way up. The cuffs fell down far enough to cover his marked wrists and the high collar felt better.

Then Mickey went into the kitchen and made coffee, spooning in far more sugar than he could stand tasting. He forced himself to drink it all, needing the kick of caffeine and sucrose. The shivery buzz of last night had faded and now he just felt raw and tired. Bone weary but unable to stay still.

He swallowed more painkillers and switched on the telly. GMTV twittered in the background and when it finished, he knew he was going to be late for work. He turned over and watched Kilroy and then flicked through the hoard of digital channels he paid for but rarely used. It was only when the paracetamol he'd taken had begun to work that he went into the loo and checked the bleed he'd started. There were more spots of blood staining his clean underwear and knew he should go to hospital. But he pushed the thought from his mind, grit his teeth as he applied more cream and changed his pants.

Then he did what he always did.

Mickey went to work.

Just like it never happened.

* * *

Mickey spoke to no one on his way through the nick. Any greetings sent his way went ignored as he focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Talking was suddenly difficult; the world had taken on an almost unreal quality against the clamour inside his head. The bustle and noise of the nick pressing in on him but he kept moving mechanically forward.

"Hey, Mickey!" Smithy's voice called after him. "The DCI was looking for you, mate."

Mickey stopped, looked back. He really didn't want to talk to Smithy right now. Smithy had _seen_. He didn't think he could ever look him in the eye again.

"Yeah, fanks." He replied, head lowered and went to continue down the corridor.

Smithy's voice stopped him. "Oh, did you go to the 'ospital?"

"No." The answer came before he could stop it. "Er…yeah…well, I got some painkillers." He came back, stopped next to Smithy. He glanced about and made sure no one else was in the corridor. "Listen, you didn't tell anyone about last night, did you?"

"Look, I shouldn't worry about it. I mean, we've all had a suspect get the better-"

Mickey shook his head. That wasn't what he'd asked and he just couldn't deal with conversation right now. "I-Is that a yes or is that a no?"

"So 'e gave you a clump…" Smithy said, "I mean-"

"That's not the point!"

"Then what?" Smithy leaned a little forward. When he spoke his voice was gentle. "Just tell me, Mickey."

Seeing the concern, the _suspicions_, on Smithy's face made him feel sick. The truth screamed at him inside his head. _No_… "I've got get some air."

Turning, Mickey hurried out. He'd handled that badly, but he just couldn't think beyond the fear gripping him. He couldn't let anyone find out. Didn't want anyone to know. Couldn't face the thought of anyone knowing what Delaney had done to him – what he hadn't been man enough to stop.

The yard wasn't empty, several of the uniforms were talking by a panda, and the sight of them brought him to a halt. He hadn't known where he was going, but he still felt a jolt at having to stop. Panicked, lost, he made himself sit on the small wall there.

Reg came passed a little while later and tried to drag him into a conversation. Mickey was half a second away from yelling at the man for the constant stream of questions and pointless yap when Des came out the nick and took him away.

* * *

Smithy gave Mickey a good fifteen minutes before heading outside to find him. He used the time to start a report and sort through a file, doing his best not to worry too much about the desperation and distress he'd seen in Mickey's face.

He found Mickey sitting on a wall out the back of the nick, staring into space.

"You all right?" He asked as he walked down the ramp towards the detective constable.

Mickey looked up as he approached. Smithy sat down beside him.

Mickey shot to his feet, away from Smithy, coming to stand in front of him, his eyes darting away. "Yeah…er…Yeah, sorry about earlier. I just…felt a bit sick, that was all."

"Don't worry about it." Smithy looked at him. "This Delaney seems to have really got to ya."

Mickey's eyes still weren't meeting his. He shook his head, shrugging his shoulders in a good imitation of carelessness. "No more than anyone else."

Smithy frowned, seeing the imitation for what it was and put his concern into words. "Well no, you seem all on edge."

"I ain't slept." That he could believe. Smithy could see the truth in those words written in Mickey's tired, shadowed eyes. "You know how it is."

"Well try and get your head down for a couple of hours." He said and clapped his friend on his arm.

Mickey flinched back, stepping away. Then his head came up and he looked Smithy in the eye, something unreadable on his face, not quite challenging.

Smithy frowned, shocked by the reaction. "What?"

"Nothing." Mickey broke the eye contact, looking away. "Er…yeah…I'd better get on. See you later."

Smithy watched as he hurried away, the churning of suspicion in his belly solidifying into certainty.

Mickey had been raped.

* * *

Mickey hurried up to CID, taking the long way to avoid people. Once up there, he pulled out Rachel's file, switched on his computer and did his best to look like he was working. He read whole pages he had to read again when he got to the bottom because he hadn't made sense of anything. Tiredness burned behind his eyes, but he didn't dare close them to rub the ache behind them away. He'd learned last night while huddled under the duvet, trying to get to sleep, that the images of his rape lurked in the darkness behind his eyelids.

When he finally gave in to the desire to rub his eyes, he was back there, in the warehouse, face down on the table with Delaney grunting over him. He shot out the chair, jumping to his feet as if ice water had been chucked in his face. The whole of CID fell silent and turned to gawp at him.

Phil Hunter frowned. "You all right?" He asked, as a few of the others chuckled at Mickey's strange behaviour.

Mickey lowered his head, avoiding the stares. He didn't want them looking at him, suddenly certain they could see the truth he was denying written on his face. "Yeah," he muttered and hurried out, down the corridor to the toilet. He went into a cubical, put the loo seat down and pressed himself onto the small space, wrapping his arms around his knees. Then he quietly waited out the tremors shaking his body.

Going back in had taken bottle, but as it was no one even looked in his direction, to busy with their own work to worry about him. He sat back at his desk and began to read again.

It didn't make sense the hundredth time either.

* * *

Jack walked into CID, looking for Mickey, which he was beginning to feel, was now his full time occupation. June had told him she'd seen Mickey not ten minutes ago, proving he was in the nick somewhere even if he'd neglected to come and check in with the DCI. And sure enough, when Jack walked through the doors, there was the skinny detective sitting at his desk.

"Mickey, what happened to you yesterday?"

Mickey looked up as the DCI approached, startled. His face was pale and Jack saw shadows around his eyes. Well, at least that meant he was working. For a while there, Jack had worried Mickey wasn't giving the case his full attention because it involved Rachel. Of course, now there was another victim.

"One minute you were looking for Delaney, the next minute you'd disappeared."

"I lost 'im." Mickey said, words clipped and short.

"And?"

"And I'm sorry."

He didn't like the young man's attitude. "So what are you doing to find him?"

"Uniform are on the look out for his car and -."

"And that's it, is it?" Jack snapped. "Delaney's on the loose, he's beaten the living daylights outta two woman and that's all you can give me?"

Mickey hunched up, avoiding Jack's anger. "Well I'll get on to it, all right?"

The pallid complexion bothered Jack. He frowned. "Have you been drinking?"

* * *

"What?" Mickey shook his head, barely believing that Jack had asked that. "No of course I haven't."

"You look terrible." Jack said. "You wanna sort yourself out. I want an update in an hour."

He watched Jack walk away, knotting inside from the encounter, Jack's attitude hurting, and heard someone speak beside him.

He turned back. "What?"

"Is he all right?" The man at the desk next to his asked.

"Yeah…" Mickey muttered, just to get the man to shut up. He picked up his pen and began filling out a report.

"Just giving you a hard time." He sounded a little sympathetic. "See usually the DI's are like that." The man was yapping. Mickey remembered DS Hunter throwing the man's name at him when he'd arrived this morning, but didn't recall what it was. New DS? Or he used to be?

The man's eyes roved around CID. "So much talent. So little time." He lamented. "And I'm not talking about the detective skills, if you know what I mean?"

Mickey stomach turned sickly at the insinuation of sex, lashing against already raw nerves. "No, I don't know what you mean."

The guy obviously thought he had Mickey sussed. "Course you do, man. Check it – this nick is like the twilight zone of totty." He leered at Mickey. "The only problem is, where do I start? Got any tips?"

The innuendo snapped the last of his restraint. "Do me a favour, yeah?" He snapped, getting up and grabbing a file from his desk. "Why don't you stick that in your mouth 'til the end of the shift and maybe we'll get some work done, yeah?" And he chucked the file at him before stalking out.

As he walked he felt the same ugliness in his belly that had lead to him running out before. He heard Phil say something and tensed as he passed Smithy, realising the sarge had heard him lose it. He found his feet took him into the toilet again, almost like an animal run to ground.

This time he didn't hide in the stall but filled the basin with water. He watched his hands – his useless, ineffectual, bruised hands – put in the plug and turn the taps. He looked up and his eyes caught on their reflection in the mirror. A pale tired skinny boned man stared back.

Was that him? Was this what Jack had seen? No wonder he had no respect for him anymore. And what nameless copper had seen – equal player, sexual hunter. Yeah they might've been friends in another life. Only now Mickey was prey – empty shell. Smithy had seen this face too – beaten, done over…raped? Had he guessed that yet? Mickey didn't like the pity he saw in Smithy's face, couldn't handle him knowing.

And what Delaney had seen – prey, meat, an arse to be used…

The door opened.

Mickey looked over to see Smithy coming into the loo.

"What?" Mickey said harshly, challenging. "What d'you want, ay?"

The sergeant shut the door behind himself. Mickey felt an equal wash of fear and anger run though him. He didn't want to have this conversation. He couldn't live with this conversation.

Smithy came closer. He almost looked nervous. "Last night at the warehouse…" he began, softly, formally. "I got the impression that something else had 'appened with Delaney."

Mickey turned back to the sink and splashed water on his face. "Well it didn't, all right?" Funny how the words almost felt like truth.

"You told me to wait outside. Your clothes were undone."

"And he beat me up."

"Something more than that."

Water dripped coldly down Mickey's skin and he remained bent over the sink. "What do you mean?" _Please no…_

"I know what I saw." Smithy stated simply.

"Well it was nuffing."

"When I was in the army a mate of mine got beat up by a couple of other squaddies." Smithy told him. There was that gentleness again and it hurt to hear it. "Now he said everything was all right then a couple of months later he had a breakdown and no one could work out why. Then it all came out."

Mickey waited, feeling cold, feeling numb.

"He'd been raped."

* * *

Silence greeted his words. For a moment there, Smithy had hoped Mickey would just laugh at the idea and he'd know he'd been wrong. But the quiet was all the confirmation Smithy needed.

"Are you going to report this?"

Mickey straightened up. "There's nothing to report, OK?" He grabbed a tissue and dried his face before coming back to Smithy.

"You can't pretend this hasn't happened."

"Well it didn't, all right?" Mickey insisted. "I don't care wot you fink."

"People are gonna support ya."

"People aren't gonna know anything, OK?" He came up close. "And I don't want any rumours being spread about me! Now do I have your word on that?" His voice dropped harshly. "Do I have your word on that?"

The desperation he heard in Mickey's words got to him. "Yeah…" He agreed finally.

"I don't want a single person in this nick talking about me. You understand?"

Smithy met his gaze, knowing he should go to the DCI straight away. And that he should drag Mickey down to the FME, down to the hospital if he hadn't already gone.

He knew he should help his friend.

"So we're clear?" Mickey demanded.

So he did help, the only way he could.

Smithy nodded his agreement.

Mickey relaxed and walked out the toilet. Smithy watched him go.

There were procedures, recommended courses of action in a situation like this. As a copper he'd followed those recommendations a hundred times with numerous victims. It had kept him focused on the job when emotions might otherwise have got in the way.

But none of those victims were friends and this situation wasn't in the courses. This wasn't supposed to happen to one of their own.

He was handling it badly, but he just didn't know what to do.

* * *

Smithy found it hard to concentrate on his work after that. He hadn't thought of Ray for several years, but he still remembered the young man's descent into depression and alcoholism as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. His own feelings of helplessness, completely in the dark about what Ray had suffered. Even now, he couldn't believe he'd missed all the signs. If only he'd known…

Well now he did.

Mickey had been the victim of perhaps the most brutal, abhorrent and personal of assaults. He shouldn't be dealing with it alone. Shit, if Ray had proved anything, it was that you _couldn't_ deal with this alone.

But how do you go about helping a man who won't admit there's a reason for that help? Who was trying to get on with everything as if nothing had happened?

He just didn't know.

Smithy finally gave up on his work and went to the canteen. He picked at his lunch, too absorbed by his thoughts to concentrate on even eating.

Gossip buzzed around him – a typical day at the nick - a former DI from Sun Hill snooping around asking questions about the Sun Hill fire and Des and Danny's involvement in Jeff Simpson's confession. He half listened to the back and forth of the relief while he pushed a glob of mashed potato around his plate, his ears pricking up and mind snapping too when he heard the dulcet tones of DS de Costa join the conversation.

He turned in his chair, looked over at the officer's talking around the table behind him. He watched Ramani sit down with them, adding her impressions of the day's events while she ate a lasagne.

He felt suddenly calmer and stood up, abandoning his meal. He chucked his own food away and went back to work.

At least now he had an idea what he was going to do.

* * *

Mickey skipped his own refs, as much because he couldn't face going in the busy canteen as lack of hunger. His stomach felt vaguely empty, but the bruising to his bowel probably meant his intestines wouldn't be requesting food anytime soon and anything else wasn't noticeable against the churning of his other emotions. He wandered around, going over files, photo-copying this, typing up that, unable to concentrate on any one for very long. In its own way, it was therapeutic. He'd done much the same when his mum died, going through the motions of normality until it felt a little like normal again.

Keep going, keep doing, keep from thinking about it… It would fade in time.

And who'd've thought, just a few weeks ago, when a wedge had been driven between him and his DCI, when he laid his mum to rest and it felt like his life had hit rock bottom that something else would come along and prove him wrong. That losing a parent, and seeing a relationship he was proud of being ruined was merely the appetiser for the true nadir. Just to make the pain more exquisite.

Or give himself something else to think about, take your pick.

Mickey could have done with his mum right now.

Thank god she hadn't lived to see this. The woman would have died of shame.

Ramani caught him at one point, asking about a family on the Larkmead that Mickey was familiar with. Ordinarily he would have stopped, told her what he knew, but he just couldn't talk about anything right now, especially with her, a SOIT trained officer.

He wanted to be left alone.

An hour or so later, he saw Smithy come upstairs to CID. He looked up from the photocopier, watched him walk past. The jump in his heart rate slowed when he realised Smithy wasn't coming to talk to him. He followed the sarge anyway; fearful he might be heading straight for the DCI. Mickey stopped at the doors and looked through. His insides turned to ice as he watched Smithy walk over to DS de Costa, the sexual offences expert of the CSU and leant over. Mickey watched his lips move, but couldn't read them.

The pair spoke a moment then Ramani led Smithy into the small interview room.

Mickey's head shook in a minute 'no' motion. His eyes were moist.

* * *

Smithy dealt with his paper work and settled a small personnel problem in the relief while he silently made up his mind. He didn't want to go behind Mickey's back, and he certainly didn't want to add to the DC's distress, but he was out of his depth here and he needed some expert advice. And like it or not, that was Ramani.

In the end he decided, if he didn't name names, then his enforced promise would still hold.

He still had to fight guilt every step of the way up to CID. As he walked through the corridor, he knew Mickey's eyes were on him, but there was no reason for him to be suspicious. Smithy conferred with CID all the time.

"Er…Ramani?" He asked, "could I have a quick word?"

The Asian woman led him into the little cosy interview room they put victims and witnesses in. Once inside, he found the words failing.

"Umm…I think a friend of mine has been sexually assaulted and I don't know what to do about it."

De Costa was too much the professional to let her surprise slip. "Sit down." She said and took a seat directly opposite. "Did you ask them what happened?"

"They says they was beaten up." Smithy told her, "nothing more."

"But you don't believe them?"

"No." He admitted. It felt better just to say it out loud. "I just don't fink 'e wants to face it."

Ramani frowned. "He?" She touched her mouth. "Did he go to the hospital?"

"Well, he says he has."

"Are you telling me this as a copper or as a friend?"

"This is just off the record for now."

"OK," she nodded. "Well in that case, you know the score. Its always best if the victim comes forward. I'd direct your efforts towards persuading him to do that as…bottling this kind of thing up is always very damaging. I've seen the consequences."

Smithy took a deep breath, let it out. He was silent for quite a while.

"I'm not sure how to do that." Smithy admitted eventually. "'e just jumps down my throat every time I mention it."

"Anger is very natural." Ramani said. "So is denial." She looked frankly at him. "The best advice I can give is to keep coming back. And try not to let his anger get to you. When he's ready to talk, he'll need a friend."

"At the moment, 'e won't even admit it." He said eventually.

"He's probably feeling very ashamed right now."

"Ashamed?" Smithy frowned. "'e ain't got anything to be ashamed of."

"I agree." Ramani nodded. "If he comes forward, there's any number of organisation that can help him deal with this."

* * *

"Mickey, how's it going?"

Mickey jumped at the sudden approach. He pulled his eyes away from the interview room where he'd seen Smithy and Ramani go, and turned to the DCI. _Update_, he thought absently. He'd forgotten.

"I got a few things I need to check up on." He lied. His stomach hurt, vague hunger giving way to hungry.

"That's it?" Jack said tersely, "that's your update?"

"I've been busy, guv."

"So's Delaney. We lost our best lead yesterday. I want another chance at this."

"Yes, sir."

"Guv?" Phil Hunter called Jack over and Mickey spared him a look of thanks behind the guv'nor's back. The up-tilt at the corner of Phil's mouth confirmed that he was giving Mickey a break and getting Meadows off his back. He didn't waste it, scooting over to the phone to call Delaney's probation officer. As he dialled the number, he felt the familiar kick of adrenaline in his veins.

Back at the job. It felt good.

It lasted until the line picked up and a secretary informed him to call back later. Suddenly deprived of the rush, and hating himself for the sting of relief at not having to discuss anything to do with Delaney, he rested his head in his hands and closed his eyes.

He was so tired. The sick/ache feeling in his stomach was getting worse and it wasn't time to take any more tablets, wouldn't be for another couple of hours. Not that it mattered. The bowel cramps he'd suffered after the rape had finally subsided under a ton of ibruprophen but even that couldn't change the fact that he hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday.

Getting up, Mickey walked over to the water cooler and filled a cup. Swallowing it down, and then another, the emptiness in the stomach eased. Five minutes later, his bladder protested at the extra liquid and he went to the loo. Peeing hurt a little, but at least he wasn't having trouble going.

On his way back, he saw Smithy disappearing down the corridor and then down the stairs. He sat back down at his desk and moved papers about, until the edginess inside him demanded he move. Still hungry, he returned to the water cooler and took another plastic cup. He went to fill up again.

As Mickey lent over the cooler, someone touched his back.

"All right, Mickey?"

He straightened, flinching back as his heart leap. Ramani smiled at him. "Oh the usual, you know." He sipped at the water. "Sorry if I snapped at you earlier on."

"Oh no, that's all right." She looked concerned at him. "Gosh you look tired."

"This place wears you out, dunnit?"

"I heard you had a bit of a run in yesterday, are you all right?"

The blood froze in his veins. "How d'you mean?"

"You were out of radio contact for-"

"So what's Smithy been saying then, ay?" He demanded.

"Smithy?"

"Yeah. I see you talking to him earlier on." Anger and humiliation flared inside him. "What's 'e said?"

Not waiting for an answer, he dumped the cup down and hurried out.

Ramani stared after him. Her face hardened as she put two and two together.

* * *

Mickey flew through the nick, scanning the offices and corridors for Smithy. A couple of the uniforms gave him a questioning look, but he just barged past them. He finally found Smithy outside his office. "You gave me your word!" He yelled.

Smithy frowned, confused. "Er, what was that about?"

Finally let loose, Mickey couldn't stop the torrent of rage inside him. "Couldn't leave it alone, couldya?"

"I dunno what you're talking-"

"You told Ramani about me!"

"No I didn't." He insisted.

"Don't lie to me!"

"Mickey, I'm telling you I didn't."

The lies ignited the betrayal and Mickey's anger lashed out. He flew at Smithy, grabbing him by the throat, pushing him back. While Smithy was both taller and broader than Mickey, the DC had the element of surprise on his side and he got in a few good blows before Smithy had him up against the wall.

Jack Meadows chose that moment to come through the doors.

* * *

Jack's average frustration filled day took a turn for the worse as he turned the corner and saw one of his sergeants forcing one of his detective's against the wall. He reacted. "Oi!" he cried out and rushed over, pushing an arm between them, forcing them apart. "Break it up!"

Separated, the pair breathed harshly, Smithy was looking at Mickey but the young DC was looking away. He was shaking ever so slightly.

"What the hell is going on here?" Jack demanded.

"Just a misunderstanding, sir." Smithy said crisply.

Jack wasn't about to let that pass. This was a nick not a playground. "And this is how you deal with misunderstandings, is it?"

"I'm sorry, guv." Mickey's voice was harsh. "It won't 'appen again."

"Too right it won't." Jack snapped. "If there's something going on between you two, you leave it outside." He looked at Smithy. "Sergeant Smith, my office. Now."

Smithy looked at Mickey then followed the DCI.

Mickey bit his lip as anger raged inside him. He leaned back, holding it in, holding everything in, thudding his head back against the wall. If Smithy had broken his word and told De Costa, it wouldn't take much for him to spill it to Jack too. The thought of them talking about him, knowing about him…

He felt tears threaten, anger fading to hurt at the betrayal. His stomach clenched. Jack's opinion of him was pretty low right now. What would he think of Mickey if he knew what Delaney had done to him?

* * *

"Would you like to tell me what just happened out there?" Jack demanded the moment the door was closed. The relief knew he didn't stand for any dissension among the ranks, and the fact that it had been Smithy and Mickey, two of his best officers, brawling like a couple of yobs in the middle of the nick galled him.

Smithy stood rod straight. "Like I said, it was just a misunderstanding."

"You mind telling me what this misunderstanding was?"

He could see that Smithy didn't. "It was personal, sir."

"It stopped being personal the moment you started a punch-up in this nick." Jack told him. "Now tell me what happened."

Smithy looked nervous and his feet shuffled.

Jack frowned and levelled a hard look at the young man. "And you can consider that an order, sergeant."

* * *

Smithy swallowed. "Sir." He acknowledged. Then he took a breath. At least, with the DCI ordering this, he could justify breaking his word.

"Well, I'm waiting."

"It was about last night." Smithy watched the DCI's face change from anger to worry; the words coming out of his mouth easier to say than he'd thought. "When Mickey was out of radio contact."

Jack frowned. "He was chasing Delaney."

Smithy took a deep breath. The next sentence coming out on the exhalation. "He was raped."

* * *

Jack felt a crushing weight fall on his chest. "Raped?" He repeated. He didn't look at his officer as the words sank in. He remembered how Mickey had looked earlier… the young man had been a wreak. Why hadn't he questioned that? He looked back at Smithy. "Are you saying Delaney raped Mickey?"

Smithy's face was grave. He nodded. "Yes, sir."

Confusion filled him. "But I asked you what happened this morning." There was a measure of disbelief in his voice. "You lied?"

"Mickey asked me not to say anything."

"What's going through your brain, eh? You're a sergeant, he's a victim! Your job was to look after him not fight him."

"Look, I didn't start it. I was trying to help him."

"You've got a funny way of showing it!" Jack cried. "And why the hell didn't you call me from the scene last night?" He demanded. He was the DCI. He took care of his relief. He took care of Mickey. "And I presume you made sure he went straight to hospital?"

Shamefaced, Smithy looked away. "No sir…" He looked up. "But I fink he went this morning."

"I don't believe this." Jack stated. "You have a duty of care. You couldn't have dealt with this more ineptly and what galls me is you're an experienced officer! Not only have you let me down but you've let a colleague down when he needed you most!"

"If it means anything, I know that." His words were grave.

The shame on Smithy's face dissolved most of Jack's anger. "So who else knows?"

"Well I spoke to DS De Costa but I didn't mention any names."

"Well that's her area of expertise so…we might be able to use her." He paused. "Anybody else?"

"No, sir."

"Right…We keep this to ourselves. Need to know only." He took a breath, seeking stability from professionalism. "Get the Borough Forensic Manager to call me. Tell her it's confidential and I want her to handle it personally."

"Sir."

Jack stared into space, aware of the door closing behind Smithy. Sighing, he sat down and covered his face with his hands. Mickey hadn't long lost his mother, and it had hurt to watch the young man arrive for work every morning, determined not to let his loss take over. Jack knew how much he was grieving, had tried to be there for him, but there had been all that business between them over Rachel and Laura. Mickey hadn't confided in him, but he'd always been there, waiting – just assuming Mickey would come in him eventually.

But he hadn't. And now this…

_THIS_…

His insides ached. Had things got so bad between them that Mickey had felt he couldn't come to him for help? Mickey _should_ have felt he could come to Jack, as his both his DCI and his friend. If this had happened last year, when things were better between them, Mickey _would_ have come to him.

How had he failed at his responsibility so badly?

Jack was fond of Mickey, more so than any of the CID's officers he'd known over the years. The pair of them worked well together. Jack admired the young man's ambition and obvious talent for his work. Mickey put things together quicker than almost anyone he had worked with, and he was a hell of good undercover man too.

And more than that, he enjoyed his company. One of the reasons he'd lost it with Mickey over Rachel was because Mickey's opinion mattered. He could make Jack feel, and he didn't dare feel anything, not with Laura or the kids, not if he wanted to be happy.

And he deserved to be happy didn't he?

The immediate answer was no, not if blinded him to his work, his responsibility. He'd been so angry after the assault on Rachel. He'd wanted the man caught and in that desperation, he'd underestimated Delaney. Even though he'd seen the bastard's violence accelerate from simple fraud and stealing to a beating to a violent stabbing…

Even though he knew Delaney was starting to take an unhealthy interest in Mickey…

He had still sent Mickey in after him.

He should have seen this coming. He should have been there to stop it.

And he should have been there to pick up the pieces…

* * *

When Mickey got in the car he really didn't have any where in mind to go. He just knew he needed to leave. He only really realised where he was going, instinctively, until he took the turning off at the familiar yellow painted pub and onto the narrow road that linked with the A12. He was going toward Colchester…where his mother lived.

Had lived…

He stamped on the brake, receiving several honks from the cars behind him. He sat there for quite a time, cars whooshing past, rocking his vehicle gently. He really didn't think he could miss his mother any more than he did already, but at that moment, he knew what true loss was. There wasn't going to be any tea and biscuits with his mum; there wasn't going to be kind words and simple comforts; there wasn't going to be any more visits here.

There wasn't going to be much of anything any more.

His mum was dead.

He started the car and swung it round 180 degrees and revved back up the road. More angry motorists sounded their horns at his recklessness, but he didn't care, pushing everything he was feeling into handling his car. This time he knew where he was going. This time he was going to visit his mother.

Where she really was - where she'd be forever – six foot under in the one of London's more up market cemeteries. Only the best for his mum.

Mickey stopped to buy flowers at a petrol station. As he paid, he saw a patrol car pull up. He felt a shudder run through him at the sight, but didn't understand why.

He got into his car, laying the flowers carefully on the passenger seat and drove the rest of the way. He parked a short distance from the gates and wandered up the rows of graves slowly feeling the warmth of the late September sunshine and the immediate bite of early autumn cold every time he passed into shadow.

He stopped when he got to the freshly dug mound of earth and the simple cross marking her grave and gently laid the bunch of flowers on top. The headstone had yet to be erected. He'd purchased a simple yet elegant black stone he knew his mother would have approved of, which along with the funeral expenses had eaten up his savings and left him with more than a small amount of dept.

Yeah, only the best…

Mickey sat down, legs crossed.

The peace of the quiet graveyard brought him little comfort.

* * *

Ramani knew what the summons to the DCI's office was about two seconds after she entered. There was Smithy, arms crossed, face grim standing by the window and Jack Meadows sitting behind his desk, looking even grimmer.

She looked at Smithy, who nodded in reply to the unasked question.

"Ramani, take a seat." Jack said.

She looked from one to the other. "I take it this concerns Mickey Webb?"

Jack looked up at Smithy, obviously surprised that she knew what this would be about.

"As I said, sir, I did talk to Ramani." Smithy said, and frowned slightly at her. "But I never mentioned Mickey."

"After you came to see me, I bumped into Mickey." Ramani explained. "When I mentioned last night…" She sighed. "It became obvious who you meant."

Jack leant forward in his chair. "How do you mean?"

"He was very defensive. I think he thought Smithy had told me about the incident."

"That's why he went off on one." Smithy realised.

Jack settled back into his seat. "I called you in here because I need to know how to handle this." He told her. "I've dealt with assaults on officers many times but never of this magnitude. And since this is your area…"

"I think Mickey has a responsibility as a police officer to report this." Ramani said. "It's awful what's happened – absolutely awful – but I think it's important that we think about what message will be sent out if we-"

"I don't care what sort of message we send out." Smithy yelled. "We owe it to Mickey as his mates to look out for him."

"What's his state of mind likely to be?"

"Oh, he'll be ashamed – humiliated. All the power he has as a police officer will have been stripped from him and I'll tell you this – there is nothing in his life that will have prepared him for what he's feeling right now."

"I still can't believe it's happened."

"If he comes forward we can get him some proper help. I can get a counsellor from occupational health-"

"Are you serious?" Smithy snapped. "I know exactly what state of mind Mickey's in. I got the bruises to show it! And slinging someone from occupational health in front of him isn't going to sort this out!"

"Then what's your solution?" Ramani turned in her chair. "Because a couple of pints in the pub with mates is not going to make this go away."

"I'm not saying that. I'm saying he needs his friends round him-!"

"He needs trained help!"

"-not a load of old psycho-babble!"

"All right, all right!" Jack stood up. "First things first. **I** need to talk to him."

Ramani and Smithy exchanged looks as the DCI immediately left the room.

* * *

Jack barrelled into CID, catching Danny as he was about to leave.

"Have you seen Mickey?"

"No, guv, I think he's out on an enquiry."

He reached for his phone and punched up Mickey's name and pressed call. The DC chirpy voicemail message greeted him. "Mickey." He began after the tone. "It's the DCI. I want you back here ASAP. And when you get this message, call me."

The worry must have been evident in his voice because Danny frowned. "Everything all right, guv?"

"I need to find Mickey."

But it was beginning to look like the DC had gone AWOL.

* * *

The young man in question scraped a silent tear off his cheek with the back of his hand and began to shiver.

* * *

A couple of tense hours passed. Jack got on with his work, but he really couldn't concentrate. He needed to find Mickey and the inactivity made him edgy. He wanted to talk to the young man, offer him some comfort…and he could admit it, to allay his own guilt…

He wanted to make it better.

He wanted to make sure Mickey didn't do anything stupid.

Finally giving in to the itch inside him, Jack checked in on Smithy. "Anything?"

The sergeant looked up from his computer screen. "No. Not a word."

"If you were Mickey, where would you go?"

"Go to the pub and get smashed?"

That really wasn't like Mickey so Jack suggested, "friends?"

"I wouldn't know where to start." Smithy looked up. "What about family?"

_Family_… Jack straightened up, the realisation hitting him. The answer had been staring him in the face all along.

He should have known…

* * *

The relief were calling it a day when Jack left the nick. He got in his car and drove through the early evening traffic to the large cemetery, hoping all the while that his gut feeling was right.

He parked inside the gates and got out. There was a chill in the air now, as dusk approached and a very light drizzle fell, dampening his jacket. Jack walked slowly through the neatly kept graves, finally catching sight of the familiar skinny figure huddled by a mound of earth.

He'd been right.

This was where Mickey had come. His own rightness provided him with no satisfaction.

He walked towards the young man, who didn't seem to react to his approach. Mickey looked cold and lonely and distressed. He moved a little, not really looking up, when Jack stopped beside him.

"Just paying my mum a visit that's all." Mickey said softly.

Jack indicated the grass beside him. "Can I?"

"Yeah."

He sat down. The earth was damp beneath him. He wondered how long the young man had been sitting here.

"How did you know I was here?"

Jack half smiled. "Good guess."

"So what do you know?" Mickey's voice was rough, husky.

"Smithy came to see me…"

"I told Smithy to keep his mouth shut, didn't I?"

"Well he was worried about you."

Mickey turned his head, almost looking at Jack. Almost… "So you know?"

Jack looked at the broken man beside him. There was gentleness on his face. "Talk to me."

Mickey turned his head away, hiding his face as the horror welled up inside him. He bit his lip. "I can't." The words came out strangled.

Jack laid a hand against his back, watched the man beside him fight back tears. Then he moved his touch away, unsure of what to do.

Mickey held out his wrists as he swallowed and blinked, forcing himself to be calm. They were bruised and scuffed, red and raw. Jack looked away, sickened as his mind all too easily conjured the images.

The young man sniffed back tears. "Thought I could handle him." Mickey began, voice harsh and rough from holding in his emotions. "He tied me up. Laughed at me, told me what he was gonna do to me." His face contorted, body shaking, trying, trying, _trying_ to hold it back. "I tried…" His chest hitched, words forced out. "I tried so hard to get away." His head bent, loosing the battle. "I can still smell the…" And the sob finally came out. "Bastard."

Jack immediately pulled him into his arms. "You're all right." He told him gently.

Mickey pressed his face against Jack's chest and he couldn't deny it any longer. "Then he raped me." He sobbed. "Then he raped me."

Then he broke down, clutching at the older man and all Jack could do was hold him.

* * *

Mickey couldn't stop the sobs if he wanted to, hurting his chest with their violence. He let the tears come, curling into the comfort offered him. Jack shushed him a few times, probably overwhelmed by the depth of despair he was witnessing. Mickey knew he'd hate himself for that later on. But right now it didn't matter. Because now, Jack knew. And that was a thousand times worse.

* * *

Jack rocked him gently after a while, cheek against the top of Mickey's head, knowing the comfort it had brought his children. It felt like the only thing he could do. His shirt grew wet and the fingers gripping his clothes pulled uncomfortably at his collar, but he didn't try to pull away, only held the crying young man more tightly, feeling the lad's thin body shake as he choked on his sobs.

There really wasn't much else he could do, certainly nothing he could say.

After a while, the sobs died away, replaced by harsh breathing and the occasional sniff. Jack relaxed his grip but didn't let go. He felt the young man respond in kind, letting his hands fall away from the DCI's shirt but remaining against his chest.

Jack let his eyes fall on the grave.

"Glad she's not around to see this." The bitter words surprised him, as much by their content as the suddenness with which they were spoken.

"She would have wanted to be." Jack told him.

"Don't fink it matters." Mickey detached himself from the DCI, sitting back. His face was a mess of tears and mucus.

Jack felt the instant bite of cold on his damp shirt, cooling the warm patch where Mickey had been.

Jack looked at him. "Have you been to the hospital?"

Mickey hid his face.

"It's important, Mickey. You know that."

"…Yeah…" He murmured.

Jack frowned, unsure if the affirmation was for his question or not. "Mickey…?"

His head snapped up. "No I ain't, all right?"

Pleased to see a spark in the sullen face, Jack stood up. "Then that's where we're going now."

"No."

He regarded him with sympathy. "I'll make sure it stays confidential-"

Mickey looked down, bending into himself. "I said no, OK?"

Jack looked down at the hunched figure. "I'll go with you." He said softly.

Mickey's head rose, looked up at his DCI.

Jack waited.

Then the young man quietly got to his feet. He winced a little at the pain and Jack immediately put out his hand to steady him. Mickey flinched and didn't meet the DCI's gaze.

A million things occurred to him to say, but Jack found the only words to come out of his mouth was a soft "come on."

* * *

The drive over to St Hughes was mainly silent. Mickey turned the radio onto Kiss FM and up as loud as he dared to minimise the likelihood of conversation. Jack merely glanced over at him, with nothing but gentleness on his face. Mickey hated seeing it and looked away every time Jack turned to check on him.

Mickey knew Jack liked and respected him, as both a friend and as a colleague and he valued that. But right now, he couldn't cope with the almost paternal concern Jack was sending in his direction.

At the hospital, Jack walked him in and dealt with the questions from the staff while Mickey stood silently at his side. At the rape suite, Jack offered to stay during the examination if that's what Mickey wanted. He couldn't look at Jack as he turned the offer down.

The cold, clinical, but not unsympathetic examination was humiliating, more so knowing Jack was just outside the door, probably listening to every groan of discomfort he couldn't hold back.

It hurt almost as much as the rape. Fingers probed him, feeling inside, touching his prostate. He thought he might be sick. And then the fingers withdrew, gloves changed and returned to handle his genitals to check for bruising.

The doctor put a couple of dissolving stitches in, telling him the importance of keeping them clean. He explained how much it would hurt to use the toilet, while Mickey sat listening, feeling numb. The doctor then said he'd prescribe something to make it easier and some antibiotics just in case. Then he drew blood samples, to check for STD's and HIV and gave him a bottle and told him to pee into it.

Mickey stared at the clear plastic tube the doctor held out and the whole thing just felt so utterly pathetic. He got up, took the bottle and went to the loo. When he got out, Jack was gone. He handed over the bottle to the nurse and the doctor told him he could go. Mickey tugged his jacket back on as he sat down in the corridor to wait for Jack. The DCI came back a little while later with a small white bag, saying he'd had Mickey's prescriptions filled out for him.

He took the medications, surprised at the heaviness of the little paper bag and then followed Jack as he led Mickey out of the hospital. It had grown dark while they were inside and the drizzle had turned to pelting rain. They hurried back to Jack's car, but only the DCI got in.

Jack leaned across the seat and Mickey opened the passenger door to talk to him. "I'll just call a taxi, guv."

Jack shook his head. "You're coming home with me." He told him.

"Fink I'd prefer to be alone."

"I don't think that's a good idea right now, do you?"

Mickey raised his head. "I need a shower, all right?" The heat faded in his words, leaving only gruff apology.

Jack's face softened even more. "There's a bathroom at my place."

"Guv…"

"I'll make it an order if I have to." He said. "Get in."

Reluctantly, Mickey sank into the seat and closed the door. Jack gave him a half smile and started the car. Mickey stared out the window, oddly calm. Jack glanced worriedly in his direction, noting Mickey's distress every time he did so. The constant shush/squeak of the windscreen wipers providing a strange background to their silence.

Jack stepped up the speed as much as he legally and safely could and it wasn't long before the car pulled up outside of Jack's home.

As they got out of his car, Jack could see just how uncomfortable Mickey was with the idea of coming here, but it felt right. He didn't want Mickey to be alone right now. That the young DC had spent hours sitting beside his mother's grave, in the drizzle and the cold autumn wind, proved that deep down, Mickey really needed company.

"You want a cup of tea?" Jack asked as soon as they were in the house.

"Nah…" The bent head lifted just a little. "Just need that bath…"

Jack was silent a moment. "I'll get you some towels."

* * *

Jack raided the freezer while Mickey bathed, pulling out a couple of frozen Tikka Masala's and sticking them in the microwave. Ten minutes later, he was laying the table and peeling back the meal trays, pouring the contents onto the plates.

He waited a while, then decided to eat his before it got cold. Jack had finished and washed up his plate by the time he heard Mickey emerging from the bathroom. He popped Mickey's plate back into the microwave and warmed his dinner over. The machine dinged just as Mickey came in, hair damp, eyes red and puffy, and sat down at the table.

Jack got Mickey's plate out of the microwave and put it in front of the young man.

"I'm not that hungry, guv."

"You still need to eat." Jack told him. "You're not exactly an advert for Weight Watchers."

Mickey picked up the fork and toyed with the lumps of chicken, putting a piece into his mouth reluctantly. He chewed and swallowed, but didn't try anymore.

Jack was completely out of his depth, unable to think of anything to say. He cleared Mickey's plate away and put it in the sink.

"Sorry." Mickey said when Jack came back.

"You've got nothing to apologise for."

Mickey got up and went to sit down on the sofa. "Shoulda stopped him."

Jack followed him. "He had you tied up, Mickey."

"If I'd…" He bit down on his lip. "If I'd tried…"

Jack knelt in front of him. "He might've killed you."

He half laughed, half choked. "Wish 'e had…" He clenched his jaw tight, shaking.

"Don't." Jack told him softly.

Mickey bent his head. "It hurt so much…"

Jack gazed helplessly at the trembling young man. "It's OK." He told him. "You're all right."

It wasn't any truer than it had been at the graveyard.

A strangled choke was the only answer and Mickey began to shake with the force of his sobs. Jack immediately put his arms around him, moving to sit next to Mickey on the sofa. The young man bent over, forehead on his knees as he cried. Jack simply sat at his side, squeezing his arms occasionally and murmuring small reassurances.

Mickey's tears faded away and he pulled away from Jack, clearly embarrassed by what he'd just done. Jack thought of a million things he ought to say, but found no way to actually say them. Instead, he got up and went to the airing cupboard. He brought back a blanket and told the young man to get some sleep before going to bed himself.

When he woke at two am, he went to check on Mickey but the young man was gone.

* * *

To be continued…


	3. Gaining Insight

Notes: Some of the content here is from 08/10/03; the rest is my own material and meant to fill the gaps before and during the show. Again, I would like to pay tribute to Chris Simmons portrayal of Mickey Webb during this episode and also the scriptwriter, who between them managed to put forward a very convincing portrait of a man taking the 'controlled' route through the acute phase of rape trauma. And even, by the end, to show Mickey beginning to enter the reorganisation phase and did so in a way that stayed true to the character. Bravo.

Notes 2: Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far – I hit a rough patch with this and it was all the comments which kept me going. You very probably wouldn't be reading this if it wasn't for them. And yes, I'm aware how long "Secret" was. Apologies in advance for the length of this one (and it's only half an episode!)

Notes 3: I'd also like to say something in admiration of the direction and camera work (and the understated acting) during the scene in the briefing room. Chris Simmons has no lines in this yet through nice camera movement and body language he dominates the scene. Also worthy of praise is the ending, which says so much with just a look. For a moment there, I thought I was watching the old Bill again.

* * *

**One of Our Own III:**

**Gaining Insight**

_By NorthernStar_

There was a peace in Jack's home that didn't exist in Mickey's. Not the quiet as such, although the house was so far from the main road that no traffic could be heard, unlike his place which suffered the constant _shush-shush_ of cars passing by even in the dead of night, but rather it was the stillness. Jack's house was…sedate.

Mickey pulled the fluffy blanket further around him and thought about putting his green zip-up back on. The blanket wasn't really adequate for sleeping under in only underwear and a T-shirt, but he didn't complain. Jack had taken him into his home after all.

The thought made Mickey chuckle. A few weeks ago Meadows had accused him of wanting just this – a place in Jack's house. Despite the surprise he'd had felt over such a bizarre accusation, Jack's words had stung.

Nothing hurt like the truth, his mum had always said, and it had left him wondering. Mostly about his friendship with Jack and his place in CID but other things too, like his parents…like Kate Spears…

Logically, he'd recognised it for what it was – a desperate barb by a desperate man. Jack had wanted to wound, to get Mickey on the defensive, distract him from the topic of Rachel. Well, it had worked, hadn't it? Because he _had_ begun to question his relationship with Meadows; he had wondered about the closeness between them.

Mickey wasn't stupid. He was well aware the rest of CID thought Jack favoured him. He even knew there was ample basis for that opinion. He'd done a few things in the past, the whole Ron Gregory situation the most recent, that would have had anyone else back in uniform, pounding the beat with the probationers. That the DCI had held off there, Mickey had decided, was because his previous record stood for more. He was good at his job. He was very good. And Jack would be a fool to lose that.

Sighing, Mickey turned over; moving off the unrelenting lump in the centre of the sofa, even though that wasn't what was keeping him awake. He was tired, bone deep tired, the ache of it fierce behind his eyes, but he was still awake, not even close to being drowsy.

When he'd lain down, Mickey had really thought he would sleep. Not just because he was here, but because…

Because he felt different now, having given in to the reality of what happened, to the pain of it…to the tears. It had left him exhausted and drained. The nasty tension inside him, to hide the truth from everyone, had lost its urgency now that Jack and God knew how many others knew. In its place was a sort of empty calm, striving to prove that he…was…_okay_.

He turned over again. He wasn't going to think about that right now.

He shivered; cold even with the blanket. He looked at his watch – 23:47 – and reached over to tug his zip-up from the untidy pile of clothes on the floor. He unzipped it and laid it over the blanket. Despite its thin material, he felt a little warmer.

Mickey closed his eyes, pulling the blanket right up to his chin and tucking his legs up. There was warmth and then there was that soft place just before sleep and then he was back _there_ and the table was beneath him, digging into his hips and genitals and there was that smell, that ugly sickening smell of sweat and skin, semen and his own faeces and pain, ripping searing pain, and so much noise, his own screams, Delaney's grunts and mutterings, the clang of the table as he struggled and it was too much…too, too much…

Mickey awoke with a gasp, his heart threatening to burst free of his chest. He was shuddering violently and it wasn't until he felt the wetness on his cheeks that he realised he was sobbing. He couldn't breathe, couldn't draw breath.

Mickey tumbled off the sofa and stumbled into the kitchen. He leant over the sink, throat tight and stomach churning, convinced he was going to be sick but the retching never came.

When his heartbeat slowed and the gasping sobs died to sniffles, he turned on the tap and washed his face. The ice cold water seared his skin, tiny rivulets dribbled down his neck and soaked into his T-shirt. He shivered and grabbed some kitchen roll to wipe his face. As he chucked the tissue into the bin he noticed that the little clock on the microwave said 01:41.

How much sleep had he got? An hour? Hour and a half maybe?

His body was coated in sweat, raising goose pimples on his flesh as the moisture cooled. He didn't know whether that was the reason why he was trembling or not, but he couldn't stop shaking. He smelt of Delaney, imagined he could feel something slick trickling from his anus and he just wanted to shower.

Wanted to scrub and scrub and scrub until the only pain he felt was _real_ pain, coming from his raw flesh instead of inside, where it _wasn't_ real, where it _just_…_wouldn't_…_stop_.

But as understanding as Jack was, he probably wouldn't look favourably on being woken up by his DC taking a shower in the middle of the night. Mickey would just have to live with it.

He left the kitchen and stared at the sofa - Jack's sofa. And it suddenly just felt _wrong_. He didn't want to be here, in Jack's home, with Delaney all over him.

He hurried over to the pile of clothes and began pulling them on. The fabric felt rough and unclean against his skin and his hands shook as he pulled up the zip.

Mickey took out his mobile as he crept to the front door. Quietly opening it, he slipped out into the bitterly cold night. Then thought of Jack and he hovered on the doorstep, thinking he should go back in and scribble something down, just a short note, thanks or sorry or something like that. But the decision was taken out of his hands when light suddenly flooded down onto the doorstep from the window upstairs and he heard Jack moving about up there.

Mickey quickly and quietly closed the door behind him and hurried away. He didn't want Jack to catch him, didn't want to have to explain or talk about this.

When he was a short distance from the house, he dialled the local cab company and then sat down on the curb to wait.

* * *

Mickey got into the shower the moment he got home and scrubbed hard. When he stumbled out, he saw his clothes tossed on the floor in the hurry. The little white prescription bag had fallen from his jacket pocket.

Mickey bent and picked it up. He sorted through the contents, antibiotics, pain-killers and some mild sedatives, taking care to read the instructions on the labels. He swallowed down a tramadol and forced himself to follow that with the tetracycline.

_Welcome to the rest of your life, Mickey Webb…_

He tossed the bag onto the bedside cabinet and then roughly dried himself off before tumbling into bed, hair still dripping wet. The pillow grew damp under his head, sticky and moist against his cheek.

The night wore on, but he couldn't sleep.

Delaney was out there somewhere, free and easy, smug over what he had done. He couldn't let him go free. Couldn't leave him out there to do this to someone else. The thought of making a statement made him sick, couldn't ever imagine putting what happened into words. He hated the thought of anyone looking at him and _knowing_.

He didn't think he could ever look anyone in the eyes again.

Mickey must have dozed off and on, drowsy from exhaustion, coaxed into submission by the strength of the pain-killer, because the space between the rattle and clink of a delivering milkman and dawn lighting the bedroom seemed almost instantaneous.

When his radio clicked on, it was almost a relief. Despite the lack of sleep, he felt more awake now that the sun was up. Mickey got up and forced himself to have a normal shower, just like he'd take any morning. At the sink, brushing his teeth, he made the mistake of looking at himself in the mirror. The person staring back at him was pale and drawn, eyes shadowed with blond stubble beginning to sprout on his chin.

He spat in the sink and rinsed his mouth, too tired to shave. He dressed in baggy jeans, belting then around his bruised hips and tugged on the first t-shirt he could find – pale blue to match his pale skin.

He took another antibiotic and slipped the bottle into his jacket pocket so he could take the next dose at lunch. Fidgety and nervous, he skipped breakfast, anxious to get to work, get started on the day.

He had Delaney to catch.

* * *

Jack picked up the blanket still draped over the sofa and began to fold it. The cushions were still dented from bearing Mickey's not very substantial weight but other than that, there was nothing to suggest he'd ever been there, sleeping under Jack's roof or crying his arms.

He tried not to worry.

* * *

Mickey was the first of the day shift into CID and he went straight to the whiteboard with its scribblings of the Delaney case. He picked up the pen and changed the 2 into a 3 in the 'escaped from custody 2 days ago' blurb beneath the photo of Delaney's ugly face.

His eyes caught Delaney's; the man's pale square face stared out at him. Mickey's stomach turned over, not really fear, more like burning humiliation and…disgust. As much for himself as for Delaney.

_Bastard…_

_Bastard.__ Bastard. Bastard. Bastard. Bastard. Bastard. Bastard. Bastard._

Mickey's fingers tightened on the pen. He had the almost irresistible urge to use it to gouge out the picture, obliterate it. He forced his hand to lower, to the small space at the bottom, where new information would be placed.

New information…

If it had happened to anyone else, that's exactly what the rape would be. More ground to cover, new leads to follow up. Sickly, he imagined himself writing it; could almost see the words there, scrawled in block capitals.

RAPED DC WEBB TWO DAYS AGO.

Mickey swallowed. He touched the board with the pen. His hand shook as he forced himself to form an R. He stared at it, licked his lips. He moved his hand and watched it shake. The A he formed was almost illegible.

He knew there would be no more letters.

The door opened behind him and he quickly scrubbed the letters from the board, wiping with his hand. The ink smeared and vanished.

If only the act were obliterated so easily from his life.

Mickey put the pen back and turned away, he saw DC Thatcher hang up his coat.

The newcomer nodded his head. "All right?" He asked.

Mickey muttered 'yeah' back and sat down at his desk.

* * *

Jack called Mickey's house but got only the answer phone. He briefly considered phoning his mobile, but decided against it. He needed to treat carefully here, and besides, what was he going to say anyway? He was concerned, with good reason, but pushing could be counter productive.

* * *

Mickey picked through his paper work, always aware of Delaney's face staring out from the incident board. A few times he turned to stare at the picture, pale ugly eyes staring back. It almost felt like being watched.

Anger gnawed at him. Delaney was free: free to live.

And Mickey…

Mickey didn't think he would ever feel truely free again. Because deep down, where he didn't want to acknowledge it, was fear. Fear that a free Delaney could find him again. Do that again.

He hated himself for it.

Mickey forced his eyes away from the photo. _No…_

Delaney would not be free for much longer. He was going to make sure of it.

He was going to put Delaney behind bars.

Mickey balled up his right hand into a fist. Most of all, he wanted to make Delaney pay for what he'd done. The need to get his hands on the bastard was like an itch under his skin, crawling sickly at the thought of ever touching Delaney again but still wanting to _hurt_. But it wasn't like rage, not really. He was holding it in.

He wanted Jack and Smithy to see he was OK.

He glanced over at the photo again; calm fury growing in his gut.

Rob Thatcher looked his way. Mickey turned his attention to the computer in front of him. He tapped up Delaney's file. The same mug shot headed the notes. Bland eyes gazed out at him.

Mickey stared back.

* * *

Jack got to the nick early. He hurried up to CID and smiled slightly in relief at the sight of Mickey sitting at his desk, hand propping up his chin, drawing Jack's eyes to the red scrapes circling his wrist.

He went over, approaching softly, taking in the young man appearance as he walked. Mickey looked pale and tired, dark smudges under his eyes gave his face a hollow look.

"How you doing?" He asked gently.

Mickey broke the stand-off with the picture. "I want to get Delaney." He said.

Jack smiled, proud of him. "Good." He sat down. "I'll need to get a statement off you." He was back on familiar ground now. This he could handle. "Then we'll get the ball rolling, forensicate the scene-"

Mickey didn't look at him. "No I'm not reporting the rape." He murmured softly. "If we catch him, he'll still go down for the attacks on Rachel and Fiona McGowan, yeah?"

Jack leaned in, aware of Rob pottering about, casting curious looks their way. "I want him punished for what he did to you." He whispered.

The new DC looked over at them. "Everything all right?"

Jack pulled out a smile. "No, you're all right Rob." He turned back to the hunched young man. "Come on…"

* * *

He led Mickey to his office and opened the door for him. The gentleness with which Jack spoke and behaved around him, so unlike the professional attitude Mickey was used to, bothered him.

It didn't feel like respect. And he needed Jack to respect him.

But who could now? Knowing what Delaney had done?

Mickey sat down, perched on the edge of the chair, elbows on his knees, head bowed.

He couldn't meet Jack's eyes.

"What time d'you leave last night?"

The question surprised him, even though he knew Jack would ask eventually.

Mickey ran his hand over his face. "Sorry, guv." He said quietly. "Couldn't sleep."

Jack watched him for a moment. Mickey could feel his eyes on him and he felt immediate humiliation.

"I want Delaney caught as bad as you do." Jack told him.

_Rachel…_ "I know that."

"For what he did to you." He added softly.

Mickey couldn't face that. "This is up to me, OK? This is my choice."

"I know." Jack told him. "I respect that. We both want Delaney caught. But to do that we need to throw all the resources we can at this case. The DI and the super need to know what happened to you."

Mickey let out a breath.

"We need them on side." Jack continued.

"I can't talk to anyone about this."

"I'll tell them."

Mickey looked up.

Jack got up from the chair and came round the desk to him. "You know I'm right."

"And if I say no, yeah?" The words weren't as angry as he'd intended them to be. He wanted to be defensive and found he wasn't.

"I'll respect that too."

Mickey's head lowered and a long silence followed. As the minutes passed, he heard the faint echoes of footsteps outside. The arrival of the day shift: muffled conversation and movement. There was even some laughter in there.

Finally, Mickey looked up at the DCI. Jack stood over him, waiting out the time passively.

"Do you?" Mickey asked. His voice cracked.

"Do I what?"

"Respect that?" _Respect me?_ The hidden meaning was as loud as Mickey's words were soft.

"Yes." The answer was immediate and certain.

Mickey lowered his head again. "Okay." The agreement came out surprisingly strongly.

Jack laid a hand on his shoulder briefly and then he turned to go. Mickey didn't look up until he heard the door close behind Jack, leaving him alone.

* * *

Jack went straight to the DI's office and knocked.

Sam looked up from her files when he entered. "Jack."

"There's something I need to discuss with the Super." He told her. "You need to hear it too."

"Give me ten minutes."

"It can't wait that long."

She frowned. "What's this about?"

"New information on the Delaney case." He told her and turned to hold open the door for her. "I'd rather not go through it twice."

"Should I call a briefing?"

"No." Jack sighed. "It's…its confidential."

* * *

Okaro frowned as the pair walked into his office. Jack knew the feeling. It was entirely too early for a crisis and the presence of his senior officers could only mean just that.

This wasn't the kind of thing you wanted to hear. Ever.

"Sit down." Okaro indicated the chair across from his own.

Jack took a seat. Sam preferred to stand. Okaro looked questioningly at him.

Jack drew a breath. "I've got some… sensitive and… highly personal information concerning the Delaney case."

Okaro's eye's flickered to Sam.

"I'm as in the dark as you are, sir." She said, eyes on Jack, every bit as watchful as Okaro.

"I know this irregular, but before I say anything I need your word that what I tell you will not leave this room."

"We're police officers, Jack." Okaro's tone was edgy, a little dangerous.

"I think you'll understand why when I explain things."

The super nodded once. "All right." He didn't sound happy.

Jack looked up at the acting DI. "Sam?"

She nodded as well.

"Right." Jack took a breath. "Two nights ago, DC Webb chased Martin Delaney into the warehouses across from the Larkmead Station."

"I read the report."

"Mickey left a few things out, sir."

The super's face hardened. "Falsifying police reports is a criminal offence and I take it very seriously-"

"Delaney tied him up and subjected him to a serious assault." Jack cut in. "He…confided in me yesterday."

The anger faded from Okaro's face. "How serious?"

Jack met his eyes. "He was raped."

Complete silence. Beside him, Sam swallowed. It was so quiet he was surprised he didn't hear the jump of her Adam's apple.

"Why didn't he come forward with this information?" The super's tone was softer.

"He's…trying to deal with this as best he can, sir."

"That's not what I asked."

"He doesn't want to make a complaint." Jack admitted.

"What sort of message does this send out? One of our own officer's gets raped and he won't make a statement."

"Well, we can't begin to imagine what Mickey's feeling right now so we're not in a position to tell him what to do." He believed that. "I think we should concentrate our efforts on finding Delaney."

Okaro nodded in agreement. "I want uniform and CID in for a briefing in one hour." He looked over at the DI. "Samantha, I want you to take another look at Delaney's profile. Clearly there are things we don't know about him."

"I'll do that right away sir."

Sam left.

Okaro looked back at Jack. "Say we get Delaney. He gets convicted for assault. What'll he get? Two? Three years?" Okaro asked. "Hardly justice for a rape."

Jack understood that frustration all too well. "I'm no happier about that than you are. But Mickey's been through enough. I'm not going to put pressure on him because of what I want." There was subtle note of warning in his voice. He wasn't about to let anyone else pressurise the young man either.

Okaro thought for a moment. "Dismissed."

Jack got up and opened the door to leave. He heard the super approach and turned in the doorway.

Okaro looked at him, eye to eye. "How is he?" He asked softly.

Jack's jaw tightened. "He'll be OK."

He could only hope that was true.

* * *

Sam left Okaro's office, grateful for the chance to escape. The horror she'd felt at Jack's words was second only to sick jolt she experienced moments later, on turning the corner in the corridor…

…And coming face to face with Mickey.

She stopped, dead, Mickey had to pull up sharp to avoid colliding with her. Immediately she looked down at her feet. "Mickey." She managed to grind out.

"Guv."

There was something in his tone, something enquiring and…_normal_…that made her look up. She caught a glimpse of his pale drawn face and shadowed eyes before Mickey bowed his head, avoiding her gaze.

She opened her mouth to say something, then shut it when she realised she didn't know what.

"I'd best get on." The DC said and walked around her.

She hated the relief that surged through her now he was gone.

* * *

Mickey went straight to the men's room and splashed water on his face. He looked at his dripping, tired face in the mirror. Now five people knew about him. Six if he counted Delaney.

And they all looked at him like he was…

He didn't think he could he face a lifetime of reactions like Sam's.

* * *

Jack supervised the setting up of the briefing room, aware all the time that Mickey was missing from CID. He hoped the young man hadn't done a runner again. He tried to tell himself that Mickey was determined to catch his attacker; he wouldn't have gone AWOL again.

But that didn't stop him worrying that Mickey hadn't gone out alone.

He finally gave in to the desire to find Mickey and left Sam Nixon in charge of the details.

Jack went downstairs and asked the first person he came across – June Ackland – if he'd seen Mickey.

"Last I saw, he was heading for the canteen, sir."

"Thanks."

Jack glanced at his watch and saw he had only fifteen minutes before the briefing. He hurried to the canteen and scanned the tables for the familiar blond head.

Mickey sat at the far end, alone at the furthest table, sipping a steaming mug, staring into its contents blankly. Jack allowed himself a slight smile of relief before moving further into the canteen. He caught sight of the food on display and gave in to a sudden impulse. He stopped at the cooler, grabbed a packet of sandwiches and paid for them before heading over.

"Mind if I join you?"

Mickey looked up. "Guv." He shifted a little. "Yeah."

Jack sat down and put the sandwiches in front of the DC. "Here."

Mickey swallowed some coffee. Then he took the packet and opened it. "Cheese and pickle, guv?"

The DCI half-smiled. "Beggars can't be choosers."

He pulled a sandwich out, took a bite and chewed. "You told 'em?" He asked around the mouthful.

"Yeah. There's a briefing in..." He glanced at his watch. "About ten minutes."

Mickey continued to munch through the cheese and pickle. Jack watched him eat. The young man never really looked at him.

"It'll get things moving, Mickey."

Mickey swallowed the last of the first sandwich and took out the second. "Long as he's caught, yeah?"

He didn't like the vaguely fatalistic tone to Mickey's voice. "He will be."

Mickey didn't reply, eating probably so he wouldn't have to talk. Jack watched the last of the sandwich vanish, washed down with a mouthful of coffee.

"They ain't saying nuffing?" Mickey asked at last. "Okaro and the DI?"

Jack made sure he caught Mickey's eyes, hoped the young man could see the sincerity there. "No."

The DC drank the last of his coffee, staring into the distance behind Jack.

Jack checked the time. "Come on."

"Give us a minute, yeah?" Mickey muttered. "Gotta take a jimmy."

* * *

Mickey made sure he was last. He followed behind Jack and the super, keeping his distance. He felt sick. He didn't want to do this.

At the entrance to the briefing room, he caught Okaro's attention.

"Sir?"

The super stopped. "Mickey."

"There's to be no reference to me in there, is there?"

Okaro's eyes were hard, but there was no edge to his answer. "No."

Mickey's "okay" was barely audible as he nodded and went into the briefing room.

All the chairs were filled, although he had no intention of sitting in any case. Mickey took position right at the back, not far from the door. He leaned back against the counter, hands clasped in front of him, head bowed.

He had to be here because he was part of the team, part of this case in a way no one else could ever be, but he didn't need to participate.

Jack stood in front of the incident board "Right then, Martin Delaney…" He began. The DCI's voice faded into the background as Mickey let all his concentration focus on keeping it together, keeping everything in.

He didn't want to listen. There was nothing about Delaney that he didn't already know.

Intimately…

DI Nixon's voice took over and his mind caught on her husky words - "almost feral" and "loner" sank through the roaring in his head.

"He takes pleasure out of hurting and humiliating people."

Mickey's eyes flickered up.

"He also has an almost pathological need to exact revenge on those he feels have wronged him."

His stomach turned over. The knowledge screamed inside him. But it was her next statement that turned his inside to fire and made his cheeks burn with shame.

"There may also be a sexual element creeping into his MO."

The words made him feel dirty, like he wanted to shrink away. But he didn't move. He kept his head lowered, chest heavy as he breathed, throat tight, barely able to swallow. He was OK, he could get through this.

Then Sam said something else, something that caught inside him. Delaney was operating in the area, using his stolen credit cards. There was no reason for him to stay within the zone marked out on the incident map.

And yet he was.

"…something is keeping him here." Sam told them.

Mickey lifted his eyes.

For the first time, Mickey wondered '_why_?'

* * *

The rest of the briefing was a jumble of voices and opinions. Mickey's mind raced, dragged back only once to the present, by Jack's eyes on him. The DCI was watching him. He ignored the concern he saw: he didn't have time for it.

Mickey was too busy thinking.

The briefing ended after what felt like a lifetime of torment. Everyone filed out, filed past him and he caught snatches of their discussions. Mickey stayed where he was, hands still clasped in front of him. It didn't feel like he would ever move again.

When there was only Okaro and Jack left, the DCI came over to him.

"You did good."

Mickey nodded once and went to leave, suddenly tired. The adrenaline feeding him during the briefing crashing now it was over.

"Mickey?" Okaro came up behind him.

He turned. "Sir?"

"My door is always open…"

It really ought to be funny. He barely looked up. "Yes, sir."

Mickey continued out the door, one foot in front of the other. He felt drained. And all he'd done was half listen to a briefing.

"Mickey!"

He carried on walking. He didn't want to talk to anyone, least of all Smithy.

"If there's anyfing I can do…" the sergeant offered as he fell into step beside Mickey.

Mickey didn't want to deal with this right now. "You've dun enough, ain't ya?" But there was no heat in his words. He was too tired.

Smithy came to stand in front of him. "I couldn't just stand by and pretend like nuffing had ever 'appened." He sounded so earnest, so convinced. "I told the DCI coz I was worried about ya."

Mickey looked at him. So many people knew now, it seemed pointless to argue over it. Especially when all he felt right now was exhaustion. "Yeah." He murmured and continued on his way.

* * *

Smithy watched him go. It had been hard to sit through the briefing and not look around at Mickey. It had been hard enough to sit through _knowing_ what the others didn't. Knowing precisely what the 'sexual element' was and why this investigation had suddenly been stepped up.

It had been a relief to stand up and see the DC at the back. He hadn't seen Mickey since yesterday, when the young man had attacked him. It had bothered him to see just how pale and dishevelled he looked, worse even than he had when Smithy had challenged him with the truth in the toilets.

He didn't like to think that he might be the cause of that.

* * *

Mickey wandered outside. Britain was going through a pleasant 'Indian summer' and the late September sunshine felt warm on his back. He sat down on the wall and bent over his knees, resting his elbows on his legs and pressing his face into his hands.

The tiredness was getting to be almost overwhelming now and he just felt…used.

He stayed that way for a long while.

"Here."

Mickey straightened up. He hadn't heard anyone approach.

Jack Meadows stood at his side, holding out a polystyrene cup. Mickey smelt coffee.

He took it with a barely audible, "cheers" and opened the lid to take a sip. It was hot, very black and very sweet. "You're makin' a habit of this, ain't ya?"

Jack smiled. "Don't get used to it."

Mickey drank down more of the burning liquid, aware of the DCI's scrutiny.

"You could go home." Jack said, looking away from the young man. "You look like you could use the sleep." Jack half smiled. "A shave wouldn't go amiss either."

Mickey ran his fingers over the scratchy blond stubble on his chin. He got up, suddenly uncomfortable with the man standing next to him. "I need the work, yeah?"

"Well you're not doing it out here."

Mickey tensed at the words.

"Are you?"

Mickey stared out across the yard for a moment before looking back at his guv'nor. "Just…needed a minute."

"I know." Then Jack made a 'go on' gesture with his head. "The public aren't paying you to sit on your backside."

A flicker of anger blossomed in his chest. "I wasn't…"

"I know what you were doing." Jack told him evenly. "Now its time to do some work."

Mickey turned and stalked back into the nick. It wasn't until he sat back at his desk he realised that between the anger and the coffee, he wasn't tired anymore.

_Scheming__ old bastard…_

* * *

About an hour later, after yet another read through Delaney's profile, he heard Jack's voice, yelling at Debbie, Brandon and that new DC, Rob.

"…that you're not taking this investigation seriously-"

He knew what they were sniggering about, what Debbie was stirring. "Guv!"

Jack reacted to his summons, coming straight over. It really ought to be amusing.

The DCI leaned over him, head bent.

"She saw you with Rachel the other day." Mickey murmured.

Jack's face hardened. "How many other people know?"

_The whole bloody Nick_… Mickey took a breath. "I want to be part of this investigation."

If Jack recognised the delaying tacit, he made no mention. "Well help us sift through Delaney's intelligence." He said and straightened up.

Left alone, Mickey pulled out a paper file and opened it. Sam's words came back to him and he glanced at the incident board with its section of Canley ringed as the area Delaney was operating in. There was no reason for him to be there. His mother lived across town.

There was nothing…

_Something is keeping him here_… With a sick churning, he couldn't help wondering if the reason Delaney stayed was to toy with him. Turn the knife just a little bit more. He wouldn't put it past the sadistic son of a bitch.

But what if it was more than that? What did he really know about Delaney?

Why…why had he raped at all?

Mickey reached for the prison file.

* * *

Mickey had been moved up to DC very quickly. He'd planned to make DS before he was 30 and he still had plenty of time. He wasn't yet 29. He knew how good he was and he let those instincts guide him now.

The food and coffee in his stomach fuelled his actions and he knew his fevered behaviour and quick phone calls were attracting attention from the rest of the team, who were mainly huddled together, sniggering over the DCI's involvement with Rachel Heath.

One sentence jumped out at him from the prison file and a thought occurred. Mickey frowned and reached out for the file Debbie had placed on the edge of her desk to cross check what he'd read.

Her eyes flickered up from her work to see him snag it. She frowned. "You want to let the FME look at that."

"What?"

She gestured at his wrist, peeping out from his sleeve as he leaned forward to take the file. He looked where she pointed; at the red and raw bruises circling his narrow wrist and for a brief moment, his mind pulled him back, seeing that same arm twisting to get free as Delaney laboured over him.

Mickey tugged the sleeve back over the mark. "It's nothing."

She shrugged, unconcerned and nodded at the file. "I'll need that back."

"Just need to check something, yeah? Coupla minutes tops."

* * *

For the next couple of hours, he phoned around, but if anything, the little inconsistency in Delaney's file just became more blaring as the information mounted up. It wasn't much more than a brief mention of the incident in Delaney's cell, only in the prison record it was described as minor. The beating Delaney had taken in his cell; the one he'd blamed the now missing Eddie McGowan for not stopping.

Delaney certainly hadn't seen it as minor.

He reached for his phone…

Ten minutes later, he hung up, picked up his pad and turned in his chair to face Debbie. He looked up at her

"Here listen to this."

She gave him her attention. "What?"

"Delaney got attacked in prison, right," he said, looking at her. He didn't feel so…_wrong_…around her, maybe because she'd gone through something similar with her husband, Chandler. "But he only received treatment for a superficial wound to his face. Then he was put in hospital. He was put on the Radcliff ward. I just rung and checked. It's the psychiatric unit. And he was put on suicide watch for three weeks after he was discarded."

"But you heard what the DI said. Delaney couldn't cope with prison. So no big surprise that he cracked."

Mickey went to reply but his phone rang and he turned to answer. Debbie just eyed his strange behaviour and carried on with her own work.

"DC Webb. Yeah, I'm trying to track down a probation officer…"

* * *

It was just after three pm that Mickey got his break. After coming to several dead-ends, he finally found someone willing to talk about Delaney. The prison chaplain had agreed to see him.

Mickey got off the phone and grabbed his jacket. Jack stopped him before he got two paces away from his desk.

"You off somewhere?"

Mickey continued to shrug into his jean jacket. He'd hoped to make it out the nick without Jack knowing. He didn't want the DCI to pull rank and order him to do desk work, using the regulation about facial injuries to keep Mickey sidelined on the investigation. "There's something in Delaney's file that doesn't make sense to me."

"What's that?"

"Well the prison physiatrist won't release any of his records and his probation officer doesn't know anything about it but he put me in touch with a prison chaplain who's had dealings with him."

The DCI's reaction was guarded. "Sounds like a fishing trip to me."

"We need to find out more about him." Mickey pointed out.

"We just need to find him."

"All right. I need to find out more about him." The reply was quiet. Sincere.

He watched understanding dawn in Jack's eyes. "Go on." He almost smiled.

Mickey hurried out before Jack could change his mind.

* * *

Jack watched the young man leave, doors swinging shut behind him. He hoped he hadn't made a mistake in letting Mickey go. He knew the copper in Mickey wouldn't let this go. But so far, Jack had seen none of controlled rage and drive for revenge that sometimes fuelled officers when cases turned personal, Mickey included.

This time, the young man wasn't bent on revenge at any cost. He really did just want Delaney behind bars.

Jack had never been prouder of him.

Either way, if Mickey was up at the prison, he wasn't likely to run into Delaney again. And with any luck, and a whole lot of hard work, CID would have Delaney in custody before Mickey even got back.

It was the only thing he could do for his friend.

* * *

Despite everything that had happened, Mickey's mind dwelled more on Polly Page as he drove towards the prison. Coppers took it bad inside, as bad as nonces' did. He couldn't imagine what she was going through.

And yet…in her own way; Polly probably understood a little of what he was feeling. They were both facing a life sentence.

Pulling up in the visitor's lot, Mickey got out of his car and stared up at the brick walls and bars of Delaney's prison. He felt a shiver run down his back. This was the place that might well have been responsible for turning Delaney into a rapist.

And himself into a vic…

Into whatever he was.

Inside, he was escorted through to the chapel and left to knock on the chaplain's door.

"Come."

He opened the office and saw a preacher tiding some books. He was a middle aged man with a salt and pepper beard and intelligent eyes.

"DC Webb?" He asked in a deep, accented voice. "Mike O'Donnell."

Mickey closed the door and sat down.

"Would you like some tea?"

"No. 'Fanks. Look, I'm a bit pushed for time, actually."

O'Donnell nodded and settled in the chair opposite Mickey. "You know the conversations I have with inmates…" He began. "They're supposed to be in confidence."

"Then why have you agreed to see me?"

"Because the conversations I had with Delaney were not like the conversations with other inmates. Despite this," he gestured to his dog collar, "I'm not a great believer in good and evil, but I'd say Delaney is closest thing to evil I've ever met."

"Why did he come to you?"

"He didn't have anywhere else to go." The chaplain frowned. "When Martin hit rock bottom, he was put under psychiatric care. The doctor's terrified him. Anyone Martin perceived to be more intelligent that him was a threat. He couldn't talk to them."

"So he confided in you?"

"When he was at his lowest ebb. His most vulnerable."

"And that's as result of him being beaten up in his cell, yeah?"

The chaplain didn't hold back on the confidence. "He was raped." He corrected.

Mickey felt a rush of adrenaline run through him and his heart pounded.

The world had suddenly got darker…

* * *

To be continued...


	4. End of the Line

Notes: Some of the content here is from 08/10/03; the rest is my own material and meant to fill the gaps during the show. Unlike other chapters though, there is no 'after' section as I wanted to keep the original ending, which was just wonderful: definitely one of the best moments of The Bill. No worries though, there's an epilogue coming up to cover the 'what happened next.'

And since I've started each chapter with kudos, I'll add some here too. Praise this time goes to the costume department (or whoever was responsible) for letting Chris Simmons appear without Mickey's customary jean jacket during the character's most vulnerable scenes. The actor uses his lovely narrow swimmers build to great affect. And when he goes after Delaney and starts putting his life back together, the jacket and the more familiar stance of DC Webb, comes back.

Praise also goes to whoever created Delaney's character, keeping to the psychology of the rapist. Good research is always appreciated.

Other Notes: Sorry this took a while but it just kept growing (over 8000 words in this chap alone!) and its still going!

Thanks to – Suze Webb and Tish for Mickey info and Sez babe for details on Delaney. You're all wonderful!

Warning: It's not graphic (keeping this PG-13/12A in line with the show, after all) but there's some course descriptions ahead.

* * *

**One of Our Own IV:**

**End of the Line**

_By NorthernStar_

"As soon as Martin told me what had happened, he regretted it." The chaplain went on, oblivious to the churning of Mickey's gut. "You could see it in his eyes. I don't know what he thought I was gonna do with the information."

Mickey looked away, understanding Delaney's feelings all too well. "Maybe he thought it'd change your opinion of him."

"Possibly." O'Donnell said. "Anyway, over the next few weeks, the nature of our conversations changed."

"In what way?"

"I don't know how to describe it really." He admitted. "It felt like he was threatening me."

Mickey frowned, concerned. "What did he say?"

"He told me that when we met on the outside, things would be different. The way he said it…" The chaplain sat back a little. "I don't know, maybe I'm being paranoid."

"Do you know Eddie McGowan?"

"Yeah he was Martin's cellmate. Martin blamed him for standing by while he was attacked."

"Yeah," Mickey confirmed softly. "He's been missing for some time."

"You think Martin's done something to him."

"We don't know." Mickey lifted his head. "Whereabouts do you live?"

"Why?" Alarm crossed O'Donnell's face. "What's going on here?"

"Delaney escaped from custody. For some reason he's remained in London. We're just trying to find out why that's all."

"Well I live out near Hounslow."

Mickey felt a flash of disappointment. Too far…

"Who was the bloke who raped him?"

"Trevor Makin. His appeal case went through about a month back. It got a bit of press and Makin's conviction was overturned on a technicality."

"And when did this happen?"

"He was released about a month ago."

Mickey tensed, heart rate kicking up. Delaney and his need for revenge…

That had to be it.

"Where does he live now?"

"I wouldn't know. Very few of the inmates I counsel ever keep in contact."

"OK, fanks." Mickey got up. "You've been…" His legs were shaky and the pause as he regained his balance was noticeable. "…very helpful."

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah." Mickey looked away. "Just got up too quick that's all."

O'Donnell frowned. "If you don't mind my saying, detective, you don't seem all that well."

Inside he flinched from the concern. On the outside, Mickey gave little away, avoiding the chaplain's eyes. "It's nuffing."

"Maybe I can help." O'Donnell told him. "Let me get you some tea…"

His skin crawled. "I'm fine." And he went to the door. "Fanks."

The chaplain opened the door for him. "God bless." He said.

Yeah, right…

Mickey walked back to his car thinking about O'Donnell and confidences, faith and blessings.

Faith had once meant a lot to Mickey, something that had surprised a lot of people when they realised. Back then, he was never without his crucifix, without the strength it offered him, but not now.

He'd put aside the symbol, and all it represented, when Kate was taken from him. Her death he might have weathered with his faith intact, but it wasn't just her passing. It was more that she had been taken just before they were ever together, really together, and that was a cruelty deeper than his belief.

So Mickey had put the cross aside, leaving only the chain around his neck. The abandonment of his faith as quiet as the holding of it had been.

He had on occasion, regretted the loss and in bleaker moments, questioned whether it had been the right thing to do. He could have used the strength his faith had always given him when his mother was killed, and especially now, with the wreck his life had become.

But looking into O'Donnell's eyes back there, while the chaplain softly betrayed confidences with one breath and blessed him with another, Mickey had known he wasn't wrong.

* * *

Jack tossed aside the useless file he was reading and reached for another. There was a small pile on his desk and he'd read them all twice over already. He would probably scan through them once more before he was through, but he already knew it was futile. If the information was there, they would have found it already.

He just had to face it. The case had gone cold.

_Damn…_

Jack skimmed through the notes, knowing them almost off by heart. Delaney's case files were concise and informative, but there was nothing there he could use. Some were written up by Mickey while he was investigating the thefts from the prostitutes Delaney visited. Despite his lingering anger over what had happened to Rachel, Jack could now see that Mickey's notes were fair, in depth and unbiased. None of the dismissal that Jack had accused Mickey of showing to Rachel and her problems was evident in the DC's words.

Why hadn't he seen that before?

Jack sighed. That was just another regret where Mickey was concerned; it was getting to be a long list.

His eyes caught on Rachel's name and he chucked the file down on his desk.

_Rachel…_

As a detective, he knew Rachel and the other prostitutes were the best hope for finding Delaney. As her lover…

Jack had hoped it wouldn't come to this but even before he'd started scouring Delaney's files for information, he'd known there wasn't any other option. There was only one place Delaney might be found…

He really hated to ask. But that wouldn't stop him.

Jack put the files away and left his office.

* * *

The drive back was frustrating, city traffic choking the roads, slowing the cars to a snail's pace. As he sat in the jam, Mickey's fingers drummed on the steering wheel, full of nervous energy.

He didn't like the inactive. It gave him a chance to think. And the one thing Mickey couldn't do right now was think.

But in the silence of his car, stalled bumper to bumper in the centre of town, his mind began to race with possibilities.

Delaney had…

Delaney had been raped.

Mickey's fingers went white as his grip on the wheel tightened.

The act had always sickened him, long before he'd ever known, intimately, the damage it could cause. That a man could force himself on another was vile but it spoke of something far more repugnant, a far deeper evil, that Delaney had known exactly what he was doing, the harm he was causing Mickey when he raped him.

And yet there was a twisted logic to it.

Delaney knew the power a rapist had over his victim, how that endured long after the act itself was finished with. He would want that.

Raping Mickey had been a way to regain the control he'd lost in his own rape and it was also the best revenge he could take.

Bile rose in the back of Mickey's throat. His body trembled, shaking with rage.

Mickey slammed his head against the wheel, forcing the thoughts away, pushing the anger back.

He didn't have time for this. Couldn't fall apart, couldn't give in…

He needed to catch Delaney. It was the one thing keeping him together. He couldn't see beyond that.

Didn't want too…

* * *

It was almost two by the time Mickey finally arrived back at the nick. He knew he drew some odd looks from the relief as he walked swiftly through the station, head bent, ignoring them. He went straight to his desk, pulling out the top draw and grabbing the small bottle of prescription painkillers inside. He shook a couple out and popped them into his mouth before heading over to the water dispenser and filling a cup to swallow them with. The pills scratched all the way down and he finished the rest of water.

Mickey glanced back at his desk and thought about taking his next dose of antibiotics. Being forced to sit in the jam had irritated the sore, barely healing tissues of his anus and rectum. There was sharp discomfort around his middle too, protesting his full bladder. He didn't want to go, sick at the thought of finding more blood on his underwear. He just didn't want to deal with that part of himself.

But the pressure hurt and he went anyway, hiding himself away in the stalls, unable to face standing next to Rob at the urinals. Pee-ing was every bit as uncomfortable as he'd thought and he had to bite down on his tongue to keep from hissing. Maybe that next dose of tetracycline was a good idea.

He waited until he heard Rob leave before coming out of the stall. He washed his hands then made the mistake of looking up, looking into his reflection in the mirror. A barely recognisable wreak stared back.

Mickey bent and splashed cold water on his face, the liquid dribbling like tears off his chin. It felt like he'd been doing this forever. Was it only a couple of days since he'd been raped?

Mickey looked down, biting his lip. He couldn't even look at himself. His eyes stung and he had to swallow to force back the tears.

Anger flared at his own weakness and he grabbed some paper towels, roughly dried his face, scrapping fiercely at his own skin. Then he chucked the tissues away and left the loos, banging the door in his wake.

* * *

The house looked no different from the others on the terrace. It was normal and ordinary and gave no clue about what went on behind its featureless door. The woman who answered was pretty and looked as if she was dressed for a night out even though it was only half past two in the afternoon.

"Oh…hey…I…didn't realise you were going to come round." She said.

Jack's stomach clenched. Despite the cuts and bruises she couldn't conceal under make-up, she was dressed for business and she'd thought he was her next customer.

"I need to talk." He said, pushing inside. "It's about Delaney."

There was reluctance on her face, badly covered. She held open the door. "Right, come in."

She followed him into the sitting room. "Can I get you a drink?"

He shook his head. "I can't stay long." He said.

She frowned. "Is this an official visit?"

"In a way, yes." He replied, sitting down. "He attacked one of my officers. I need to you to warn the girls that he goes to, that if he turns up, to get in touch with the police immediately."

"Any other criminals you'd like us to look out for?" Her tone wasn't entirely teasing. "Maybe we should put together a portfolio of mug shots and I'll see what we can do?"

His face was grave, not liking her tone. "This isn't a joke."

"I'm not laughing Jack." She told him. "I can't exactly go to prostitutes as say 'my boyfriend, the copper, needs help.' It doesn't work like that."

Jack got up, hating this. Hating himself for having to use this.

"Jack what is it?"

"He raped the officer." His voice was harsh.

Rachel bent her head, probably thinking of her own run in with Delaney. She'd been lucky to escape with just a beating. "Is she OK?"

Jack looked back at her, knowing he was breaking a confidence, but doing it anyway. "It was Mickey."

* * *

_Trevor Makin._

_He flashes VIOLENT on PNC. _

Mickey scanned Makin's file on his computer. The mug shot was of thin faced, dark haired man with sharp angular features. Not a pretty sight, but he didn't look like a rapist.

But neither had Delaney.

Mickey felt distantly sick. His mind unwillingly conjured the images of this man and Delaney, fuelled and given shape by his own ugly experiences. Was it possible that without Makin's humiliating and brutal attack on Delaney, he might not have raped Mickey? Had the inclination always been there inside Martin? Had there been something that Mickey had said, or done that triggered it? Or was it the only way Delaney could regain what he'd lost?

Had raping him given Delaney back that sense of power and control?

The growing need for understanding inside Mickey disturbed him. He didn't want to think of that, _couldn't_ think of that. He just had to catch Delaney. He couldn't deal with anything else right now.

And why should he understand? Delaney didn't deserve compassion. He'd shown none to Mickey or his other victims.

Delaney was evil. And he was going to put him away. That was all he needed to know.

Mickey covered his face with his hands, tried to rub away the tiredness building inside him. His body still ached despite the strong painkillers, constant reminders of what he'd endured, no matter how much he tried to move on.

Right now, it didn't feel like he'd ever be normal again.

Someone touched his shoulder.

Mickey's head jerked up, hands pulling away from his face, heart pounding. He turned.

"Mickey," Phil Hunter stood behind him. "Where's that forensic report for the Chaney case?"

Mickey swallowed, forcing himself to relax. "Er…yeah," he dug in his 'in' tray, pulled it out and handed it over. "It's 'ere."

Hunter frowned at where he'd retrieved it from. "What, you've not read it yet?"

"Been a bit busy. With the Delaney case."

"All right. I'll get it back to you as soon as, yeah?"

"OK."

Phil started walking back to his own desk. Half way across the room, he paused. "Listen, take a break. You look like something they dragged out the river."

Mickey agreed but turned back to his computer, alert now, still buzzing from the shock of being touched. He stared at the mug shot of Makin.

There was no understanding Delaney: rape didn't give you reason to rape.

Mickey didn't think he could ever, ever force himself on anyone. No matter how much he hated someone, or how much he believed it would undo what had been done to him.

Maybe that was the difference between them – between being a victim and…what ever it was you were, if you weren't a victim.

It was all he had to hold on to.

Mickey scanned Makin's file again, then glanced at the map on the wall. Makin's address had to be in that catchment area. He turned in his chair. Behind him, Debbie and that new detective, Rob, sniggered over something. It felt like they were laughing at him.

"Where the A-Z gone?" He asked Debbie.

"Behind you."

Mickey slid across in his chair, grabbing up the book. "What about the DCI? Where's the DCI?"

"I don't know." Debbie's lips twisted nastily. "Doing Rachel Heath?"

Mickey ignored her and got up, grabbing his jacket. He would have preferred Jack in on this, but he wasn't going to wait.

* * *

"Is…is he all right?" Rachel asked.

Jack sat down and finally admitted the truth. "No."

She settled beside him, taking his hands in hers.

"I can't believe it's happened." Jack said; with her, in private, he could confess what he felt. What had been playing on his mind since he'd learned what happened. "I'm responsible."

"How could this be your fault?"

"Because I underestimated Delaney."

"No, come on, sweetheart, you're being irrational." She murmured, "no one could possibly have known he was going to do all this." She entwined their fingers. "Look, the one thing you can do for Mickey right now is catch Delaney."

"We can't even find him." Jack said. "We know he's remained in the area. That's why I hoped…" He trailed off. He wasn't going to ask again.

Rachel sighed. "I'll tell the girls to call me if Delaney comes to them. And I'll contact you immediately." She smiled slightly. "It's the best I can do, Jack."

"I know." He looked down at their hands. "I just wish…there was something more I could do." He told her. "For Mickey."

"He will get through this, Jack."

"He's been through a lot lately with his mother dying. Now this." The anger that had been growing steadily since the shock had died away, since he'd cradled the sobbing DC in his arms by his mother's grave, finally found its voice. "I should have seen that it was getting personal."

"How could you?"

"Delaney threw acid on Mickey's car. He stole his notebook and posted it back to him. The signs were there, I just didn't see them." His accent deepened. "I didn't want to see it. I just wanted Delaney caught."

"You can't blame yourself."

"It's my job to look out for the relief and I failed in that responsibility." He sighed, rubbed his forehead, and then looked down. There was a short pause before he spoke again. "I got demoted once," he admitted, "for lack of supervision and negligence. That's what I showed here. I let my personal feelings get in the way."

"Because of me?" Her words were brittle.

Jack took her hand. "I don't regret anything that's happened between us." But although he'd meant that to be true, it almost felt like a lie. "But I should have handled things differently."

"Jack you did the best you could with-"

He got up abruptly, severing the connection of their hands. "No I didn't! A good officer, a good friend, was raped on my watch and yes, ultimately that _is_ my responsibility!"

Hurt crossed her face and he realised he was being unfair.

"I'm sorry." He told her.

"It's OK." She got up. "You're angry. Anyone would be."

"I shouldn't take it out on you."

"You _can_ talk to me, Jack." She paused, frowning. He could tell she was searching for a way to ask something. When the question came, it surprised him. "It's not just the rape, is it? It's that it's Mickey."

Jack was silent.

"He's more than just a colleague." It wasn't really a question.

Jack laughed despite himself.

"What?"

"A few weeks ago I would have hotly denied that." A smile found its way onto his lips. "And did, at one point." He sat back down. "We've been through a lot together." He told her. "He's a good officer."

She took his hands again, waiting for more.

"I think in a way Mickey sees me…I don't know, as a father figure." He frowned, thinking of the young man and the rapport between them. The times they had both failed to live up to the other's expectations. "I don't know why that ever bothered me."

She smiled slightly. "It's a lot to live up too."

Jack looked down, hearing the truth in that. "Maybe."

"Then you can do more for him, Jack." She told him and kissed his mouth. "Just be there."

* * *

Mickey found Makin's house easily. He parked his car a short distance away and waited. It didn't take long. The front door opened and a man walked out, immediately recognisable from the mug shot. There was a small white dog yapping at his heels, tugging at its lead, eager to get going.

Mickey snorted contemptuously. So much for the dangerous criminal.

He watched Makin cross the road and start towards the park. As soon as he saw Makin take the footpath at the end of the road, and he was sure that was where Makin was going, he started his car and swung it into a three point turn, before heading back the way he came.

He got to the park seconds before Makin, parking and watching the thin man walk his dog – a little fluffy white rat-on-a-lead – through the entrance. Mickey got out and walked behind.

The park was largely deserted and surrounded by trees and undergrowth. It was the prefect place for Delaney to tackle Makin.

Mickey kept to the edge of the park, in the trees, watching the man and his dog wander through the grass. Vaguely, he knew he shouldn't be doing an obbo without back up, but the only person he trusted right now…ever…was Jack. And the DCI wasn't anywhere to be found.

Coldness settled in his belly. Doing Rachel Heath?

Probably.

* * *

Jack took her into his arms, relishing the comfort of her touch and the taste of her mouth. She leaned closer and he felt her shoulder dig into his chest, sharp against his ribs. Almost as bony as Mickey's had been when he'd held the sobbing young man beside his mother's grave.

_Mickey_…

He pulled back. "I'm sorry."

Her arms slipped from around him; there was disappointment in her eyes, and understanding in them too.

"I have to go." He told her.

She smiled. "I love you."

The words offered more comfort than she would ever know.

* * *

Another pair of eyes were fixed on Makin. Martin Delaney also watched, and then he saw something very interesting. A familiar narrow figure ahead of him in the trees.

Mickey Webb…

Delaney's mouth settled into a bitter line.

You really couldn't trust men of the cloth…

* * *

A twig snapped behind him. Mickey turned and his heart skipped in his chest, fear and anger coursing through him the moment he saw Delaney. For a brief moment he was back there in the warehouse, tied and powerless, screaming from the pain and the rage and the humiliation. And then that confusing tide crystallised, sharpened, and came rushing out.

Mickey threw himself at Delaney, slamming the bastard up against a tree. In the struggle, Delaney got his hand under Mickey's jaw and pushed hard, pressing painfully on Mickey's neck.

"Come back for seconds have ya?" Delaney sneered.

The words were like acid against his nerves. He would not let it happen again. He'd kill first.

There were no ropes stopping him now, no dizzying concussion.

Delaney kneed Mickey's belly and the DC stumbled back, his momentum pulling Delaney with him. The pair fell to the ground, Mickey grabbed Delaney's shirt and gave into the anger boiling inside him, hitting out, landing blow after blow. Blood oozed from Delaney's nose and Mickey forced himself to stop.

Delaney struggled to his knees. And the bastard was smiling…_smiling_… "Shame you didn't put up much of a fight the first time, eh?"

Mickey kicked him in the gut, sending his sprawling. "What about Makin, ay?"

"Two men holdin' me down." Delaney spat. "What's your excuse?"

And he kicked out again, letting the anger fuel him.

Delaney coughed, winded. "Come on, come on…" he taunted.

The sick bastard was actually enjoying this, getting his kicks out of seeing the anger and the frustration that Mickey felt.

Mickey raised his foot and began stamping down on Delaney's arm, again and again, until Mickey felt something give beneath his heal. The satisfaction was muted.

Delaney looked up at him, almost laughing. "You can arrest me but I'll always have somethin' on you, Mickey!"

The words cut deep: there was truth there. But he could inflict hurt too. "Like Makin's got somefing on you, yeah?"

"You broke ma arm!"

Mickey leaned over him. "Why haven't you done anything to him yet?" He yelled. "What you scared of, ay?" There was a thin scrap of triumph in this, knowing he was doing the very thing Delaney hadn't been able too – confront his attacker – and he clung on to that small victory.

"Truth?" There was a chuckle in Delaney's voice, scorning Mickey's victory. "He's always got that bloody dog with him." Mickey looked up at the man in the distance, dragging the scrap of fur along, completely unaware. "I hate dogs!"

"You're a sick, sick man!"

Mickey's phone rang, and with hands shaky from the confrontation he checked his pockets before spotting it in the grass. He went over and when he bent over to pick it up, he took his eyes off Delaney for just as second. In that moment, Martin was off, knocking Mickey down and sprinting away.

Mickey tore after him, answering the call as he ran. "This is DC Webb," he yelled into the mobile. "I need assistance!"

* * *

Jack was half way back to the nick when the call came over the radio.

"All units from Sierra Oscar. DC Webb has seen Martin Delaney in the last two minutes running out of Bray Park, heading in the direction of Bagshot Road…."

Jack's heart skipped a beat at the report.

_Mickey!_

Jack stepped on the breaks and reversed the car, swinging it around to double back the way he came, listening to the reports of Mickey's location. He silently thanked God that he was only minutes away.

"Sierra Oscar, this is DCI Meadows." He said into the radio. "I'm at the top of Staymore Road and am proceeding to Mill Yard."

* * *

Mickey sprinted after Delaney, yelling his location into his phone all the while. His lungs burned and he felt the trickle of blood on his forehead. The gash on his head had reopened in the fight. And every one of his cuts and bruises ached at the exertion.

But he kept on going…

* * *

Jack reached the yard in just over a minute. He stopped the car and got out. No sign of Mickey or Delaney, or anyone else.

"Mickey!" He called.

Nothing.

His stomach churned, worried. He knew what Delaney was capable of and it made him sick to think what Mickey might endure a second time.

Sirens sounded all around and he called out again.

"Mickey!"

Damn Mickey, couldn't he stay put just once?

Then the sound of pounding feet alerted him and Jack turned to see Delaney run out of the trees. He came to a halt when he saw the DCI.

"All right, Delaney, you just stay put." He yelled, "it's over." He could hear his officer's getting out of the area cars.

Delaney looked behind him then down at the ground. He bent and scooped up a piece of piping.

"Don't be stupid." Jack warned him.

Smithy hurried over, hands going to the canister of CS on his belt. "Put it down!"

More feet. Mickey pounded towards them, heedless, and ploughed into Delaney. Martin cried out in pain as Mickey tackled Delaney and the pair went down in a tangle of arms and legs.

* * *

Mickey twisted Delaney's arms behind his back then felt someone behind him. Smithy tugged Mickey away and took over restraining Delaney. The DC stumbled back, gasping air into his lungs, legs numb and shaky. He couldn't believe it was over.

"Martin Delaney," Jack began, "I'm arresting you for assault."

"Just assault?" Delaney lifted his head. He was laughing. "What about rape?"

The words shocked them. Jack cast a worried glance at Mickey.

Mickey looked up at the approaching uniforms, desparate. "You shut your mouth!" He screamed.

Delaney took no notice. "What about the rape?"

"You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court." Jack recited as he and Smithy pulled Delaney to his feet. "Anything you say may be given in evidence." He pushed the man at Smithy. "Put him in the car!"

"What about the rape charge?" Delaney continued as Smithy led him away. "You don't caution me!"

"Shut up!" Smithy shook Delaney, jerking his broken arm, stopping the words.

But it was too late, wasn't it?

"Rape?" Reg asked. "What's that about a rape? I didn't know he'd raped anyone."

Mickey listened to the words and despaired. Too late…

_No…_

Des looked at Smithy. "What's been going on, sarge?"

_No_…

"Shut up, Des!" Smithy ordered, shoving Delaney at him. "And just put him in the car."

A grin broke on Delaney's face. "Decided not to report it, Mickey?" He crowed over his shoulder. "Brave boy!"

That final taunt snapped something inside him, stole away that one tiny shred of self worth he had left, that he was better than Delaney. Mickey rushed forward, grabbing Delaney and twisting his broken arm, relishing the cry of pain he made. "You're going back inside Martin." He hissed, wanting him to hurt, wanting _his_ words to do as much damage as Delaney's had just done. "What happens when you meet another Trevor Makin, ay? Are you gonna report it? ARE YOU GONNA REPORT IT! Ay? Ay?"

Then he pushed away and saw the faces. Reg, Des, everyone…staring at him with growing shock. They knew…

They knew what Delaney had done to him.

He was going to be sick.

Jack came over. "Mickey?"

He was shaking hard, lungs never getting enough oxygen no matter how hard he breathed.

Jack pointed at Delaney. "Get him out of here." He yelled at Des and put an arm around Mickey. "You're all right. You got him."

* * *

Jack frowned, not liking the pallor of his DC's skin. His thin shoulders shook, but Jack couldn't tell if that was from the run or the anger or unshed tears. Jack looked up, saw the other officer's all casting concerned and questioning glances their way. He carefully manoeuvred Mickey around, away from prying eyes, but the young man stumbled, legs going from under him. Jack muttered an oath, catching him on the way down, taking his weight as he fell to his knees.

Mickey's head was bent. "Never 'fought…never 'fought 'e'd…" He could barely draw breath.

Jack knelt beside him. "He'll probably retract it during questioning."

"Nah." Mickey looked up. His voice was harsh. "Nah he won't. 'E's proud of it, ain't he?"

Jack could only squeeze his shoulder in silent support.

* * *

Delaney met Des's eyes in the rear-view mirror. He wasn't smiling now.

"That true. Wot you said?"

"Des." Reg admonished.

"It is, innit? You're a bloody rapist, aren't you?"

"Des!"

"Shuddup. Mickey's a mate, ain't he? I'm concerned, that's all."

"Look, he was just trying to rattle everyone." Reg reasoned. "Don't give him the satisfaction."

"Yeah, well how comes no one said that back there, ay? How comes Mickey didn't say 'that's a load of old donkey's' instead of going bananas like he did?" Des looked back up into the mirror, gripping the wheel, angry. "You did, didn't you, you little scrote? You banged his arse!"

"DES!"

Delaney turned to stare out the window and smiled.

* * *

"Come on…" Jack said softly as he helped Mickey to get up. Mickey let himself be herded by the DCI into the passenger seat of his car. He winced as he sat down, bruises protesting the movement.

Jack frowned, seeing the flash of pain that crossed his face. "You all right?"

Mickey didn't look up. "Just gave us a bit of a kickin' this time, guv."

This time…

"See the FME when we get back."

Mickey tensed, uncomfortable with the concern, hiding his face. "I'm OK." He told him softly.

Jack closed Mickey's door and walked around to the driver's side. Mickey didn't look round when he got in and started the car up, keeping his head turned away, staring out the window.

He felt oddly numb to what had happened. Delaney had told everyone, taken away his only chance of putting the rape behind him and carrying on, and yet he didn't really feel anything. There was a vague sensation on inevitability but nothing else.

_Brave boy…_ Delaney had taunted, robbing him of that small amount of pride he felt in confronting his attacker.

Mickey knew cowardice, hiding behind the sofa as the man he had called 'dad' laid into his mother again and again, to afraid to help her or call the police. But even as he'd trembled in the night and swore to Smithy that nothing had happened, desperate to keep his secret, even as he'd insisted to Jack he wasn't going to report the rape, he'd never thought he was being a coward.

Maybe…

Maybe he'd been wrong.

Mickey watched the streets of Canley whiz by, arm propped against the window, chewing on his nail.

It wasn't like he had anything to lose now.

So he made the decision.

That wasn't the only one he made…

* * *

It didn't take long to get back to the nick.

Jack pulled up outside in the yard but Mickey made no move to get out.

Jack looked up and saw Des and Reg taking Delaney out of their car. It was probably best they waited. Mickey didn't need another confrontation with Delaney.

"I wanna make a statement." Mickey said softly. It was the first time he's spoke since leaving the scene.

The decision surprised him. "It's been 72 hours." Jack told him gently. Any forensic evidence at the warehouse would be gone.

"Yeah well I kept the clothes I was wearing."

Jack felt a rush of pride. "Good."

Mickey didn't look at him.

"So how'd you feel about standing up in court?"

Mickey's head lifted. "Ask me on the day."

Jack looked at the bent blond head, a slight smile on his lips. He'd never been prouder of him.

* * *

Smithy led Delaney into the nick, followed by Des and Reg. Delaney looked subdued, as if the reality had finally hit him. Smithy wondered how Mickey was.

Another officer took custody of Delaney.

Des looked at Smithy. "Is it true what Delaney said about Mickey?"

Smithy stopped. "Leave it Des!" He warned.

"It is isn't it?" Des pushed. "He raped him."

One of the female PC's walked passed, eyes flicking up in interest. Smithy nodded to her angrily. "Why don't you get on the tannoy, ay, you idiot?"

* * *

Mickey trailed behind Jack. He heard every word, but he kept his head bent. He didn't want to look at anyone, didn't want anyone to look at him. He'd be station gossip by the end of the day.

But he felt calm inside.

It was over.

"Poor bloke," muttered Reg.

But what did he care?

* * *

Jack and Ramani took his statement.

Mickey sat in the CSU interview room, and it might just have been any other day at work, but now he was on the other side of the table - the side of the victims.

Jack brought him a cup of steaming black coffee and offered him a smile. Mickey avoided his gaze, turning his eyes to the Styrofoam cup in his hands. He just wanted to get on with this; get it over with.

Then they began.

Mickey never looked up once. As a copper he knew what to say and his voice was detached and toneless. He might easily have been talking about someone else.

At approximately 6:30 pm on Thursday 24th September 2003, in the course of his duty, he had chased Martin Delaney into the warehouse across from Larkmead Station. He did not know the exact address, but he could find it again.

Yes he had tried to call for back up on his mobile but there was no signal.

No he didn't draw his ASP. He had left it in his car.

Yeah, that was stupid.

He had confronted Delaney and been knocked unconscious, probably with a shovel, he wasn't sure. When he came too, he was being tied to a table.

Face down.

Mickey's voice broke at that and he bent even further into himself, biting his lip.

"Do you need a minute?" Jack asked gently.

Mickey shook his head. "Nah." His voice was rough.

Yes his feet were in contact with the floor and his arms were at right angles.

No he couldn't move.

The ropes had been tied around his wrists and tightened in vices.

Yes it was possible they were still there in the warehouse. He hadn't removed the ropes from the scene.

Yes he knew that pictures of his bruised wrists and other injuries would need to be taken.

Then Delaney had taunted him. Mickey repeated every word his attacker had said.

His mobile had rung. Delaney had taken it from his back pocket and smashed it.

No Delaney didn't say anything else. That was all.

And then Delaney had pulled down his trousers and removed his own.

Then he'd been raped.

No there hadn't been any other sexual or indecent assault.

Not really.

The 'not really' because Delaney had taken a while to…rise to the occasion; he'd needed to perform an indecent act. And Mickey made the motion in the air to illustrate.

Ramani didn't blink, giving the act voice.

Yeah that. Wasn't the term he would've used.

Yes there had been penetration. It took maybe four or five minutes.

Yes he had ejaculated inside him.

No Delaney didn't say anything after that.

Yes he was sure. He didn't speak.

Yes they could approach Dr Travis who attended him at the rape suite at St Hughes.

Yes, he would consent to another medical examination if it was necessary.

Then Delaney had left. He was still tied up.

He got free.

No he didn't try to leave.

Because he didn't, OK?

No he hadn't tried to call for help. His bloody mobile was in little bits.

And then Smithy found him and took him home.

Yes he bathed soon after. But he kept his clothes in a bin bag and he hadn't touched them since.

Yes they were welcome to them.

Anything else they needed to know?

"We'll get this typed up." Jack said.

Mickey bent even further into the chair.

* * *

"Raped?" Debbie's nose crinkled. "Mickey?"

"That's what I heard." Ken said.

"But he's been here most of the day."

"Yeah." Brandon agreed. "Looked like death warmed up most of the time though, didn't he?"

"But who…?" Debbie straightened up. "Have they caught him yet?"

Ken nodded towards the incident board and the photo of Delaney. "Brought him in a couple of hours ago."

"Delaney?" She shook her head. "No, I can't believe that."

"Ties in with what the DI said though." Brandon leaned forward. "About Delaney's MO."

"Yeah but…_Mickey_?" She stopped when she saw Brandon and Ken tense. Silence fell across the CID room.

Debbie turned.

The DCI glared at them from the door. "Get back to work the lot of you!"

Everyone was suddenly busy.

* * *

While the statement was being prepared, Jack took Mickey into his office and got out his bottle of scotch. He poured Mickey a large measure and handed it over.

Mickey looked at the glass Jack held out.

"Go on." Jack encouraged.

Mickey took the scotch with a soft "cheers" but didn't drink it.

Jack sat down behind his desk and looked at the young man hunched on the chair in front of him. There was a quietness about him now that Jack didn't like. He didn't know what to say or do to ease the turmoil inside his friend.

It had been hard listening to the details. He didn't think he would sleep tonight. And maybe not tomorrow night either.

It was always ugly interviewing rape victims – doubly so when you knew the person.

It didn't matter what Rachel said, he knew.

It was his fault.

A soft knock interrupted his train of thoughts. Ramani came in and handed Mickey's statement over.

"Thanks."

She glanced at Mickey as if she wanted to say more, probably discuss counselling but Jack caught her eye and shook his head slightly.

_No._

Reluctantly, she left them alone again, closing the door behind her.

Jack stared at the paper in his hands. Mickey's ordeal reduced to harsh facts and uncompromising words. He put it down on his desk and waited while Mickey read through it.

Jack held out a pen.

Mickey's fingers didn't tremble as some rape victims did when he took it, but there was a tension in his signatures that Jack didn't remember seeing before.

Mickey put down the pen and the hardest part was over.

"Well done."

Mickey straightened up. "I fink this is the end of the line for me, guv." He said softly.

Jack sat down. The words not as shocking as they might be. He knew, deep down, this might happen.

He looked up at Mickey. "You're not leaving are ya?"

* * *

Jack's question was heavy with regret. It was…comforting… to hear. But it wasn't enough. He had to do this.

It _was_ over. Just more so, and in a different way, than he'd thought.

"Delaney told the chaplain he was raped," Mickey explained, beginning to pace. He couldn't say this standing still. "And then he freaked out…because someone knew his secret." He looked around at Jack, needing him to understand, needing him to know that he wasn't running away. Not really. "He freaked out cos only one person knew."

"But you're not Delaney."

"The whole station's going to know about me in the morning."

"You've got nothing to be ashamed of."

Mickey's head lifted. "I ain't ashamed." He told him, but even he didn't know if that was a lie. "But whether you like it or not, people are gonna start treating me differently from now on and…" the words caught in his throat.

Jack looked down. "For a few weeks maybe."

"I duuno how to 'andle that." Mickey admitted. "A lots 'appened to me recently, I've…" His throat felt tight, couldn't swallow the knot there. Tears threatened but he wasn't going to give in. "I've lost my mum. Now this." His head came up, strength filling his voice. "I fink its time for a fresh start."

There was sadness on Jack's face. "So you want a transfer?"

Mickey nodded once. "Time to move on."

* * *

Jack sighed, hearing the finality. He knew there was nothing he could say to change his mind. And in a way he understood Mickey's need. He didn't completely agree with it, but understood it nonetheless. So he nodded. "I'll fast track your application myself." He got up. "As of now you're on compassion leave. We'll sort the details out later."

"'Fanks."

* * *

Mickey went into CID. Jack followed him but remained just outside the doors. The tension that fell across the room when he entered told him that station gossip had reached most of them. He ignored the looks and went to his desk. No one approached him, probably warned off by the DCI waiting just outside, making sure everyone kept their eyes on their work.

Or maybe they just didn't know what to say.

Or maybe he was just being paranoid.

At his desk, Mickey opened the bag he carried and scooped up his personal items into it. Nothing particularly valuable, a couple of photos, a book he'd been reading forever, paracetamol, a CD, a Mars bar, a pack of mints and his prescription pills.

His life in Sun Hill encapsulated in those few mementos. Then he zipped up the bag and walked out.

At the door, Mickey paused and glanced back. He remembered it before the fire, seeing the room as it once had been, clearly in his mind's eye. Duncan had sat there, Kate there, his desk there and Paul and Debbie, there and there.

And thinking back some more, Bolton had once sat there, Claire there. Beech was there and Kerry's further back. And in the background, Deakin had cut through all the bollocks.

Good teams, despite everything.

Nearly four years of his life. Pretty good innings really.

Match postponed…

Mickey let the door swing shut behind him.

…due to rain.

* * *

Smithy carried the tray of food passed the relief. At least half of them now knew what had happened, why catching Delaney had suddenly been top priority. And they all wanted a piece of him.

At Delaney's cell, the duty sergeant opened the door for him. Smithy entered the cell.

Delaney looked up. He'd been quiet and subdued ever since he'd been brought in. Some prisoners were, before questioning. That was when they were likely to get mouthy.

Smithy lifted the covering, releasing a waft of steam and enticing aroma. He met Delaney's eyes, keeping the connection as he bent forward and spat in the food.

Then he put the tray down on the bunk.

"Enjoy."

* * *

Jack followed Mickey out to his car. Mickey chucked his bag in the car and got in. Jack opened the passenger side door and looked in.

"If you want me to put a word in for ya, or you need anything, just let me know."

"Guv…" There was one more thing he needed to do. And if something good or decent was to come of his rape, maybe this was it. "When Chandler was tryin' to get rid of me, I stuck it out cos I knew you'd stand by me. I stayed, loads of us stayed, because we respected you." He looked up briefly. "But your loosing that respect now cos of Rachel."

"You think that bothers me?"  
"It bothers me." He took a breath. "Is she gonna stop being a prostitute? Are you gonna stop being a copper? Then how's it work, eh? You deserve so much more than this. I mean that. So does Laura." There was no heat or anger in his tone, only genuine concern. "Sort it out with Rachel, eh? I'll drive you round there now."

Jack's face crinkled, feeling none of the anger now. He could hear the sincerity in Mickey's voice. "You're not daft, are ya?"

He'd wished he could do more for Mickey.

Now he had the chance.

Jack got in the car.

* * *

The duty officer looked up when Des and Reg approached.

"We've come fer Delaney." Des told him.

"The DI wants him in for questioning." Reg added.

They followed the duty officer to the cell door. As he reached out to unlock the door, Des laid a hand on his arm. "Five minutes." He said softly. "You know the score. Five minutes."

"I don't-"

"You know what that sick bastard did? You want me to spell it out for ya?" Des yelled. "Five minutes, that's all."

Reg looked at the officer. "I'll keep an eye."

The officer didn't look happy but conceded anyway. "Five minutes." He agreed.

* * *

Des opened Delaney's cell. He walked in and picked up the untouched plate of food. The fat glob of spittle glistened on top of the overcooked food.

Des curled his lip. "Not hungry then, ay? That's a slur on our cookin' that."

Delaney looked nervously between Des and custody sergeant.

"How's the arm?" Des asked conversationally, leaning in to take a closer look at the bandaged limb. He shook his head. "Nasty. Mickey got you good there, didn't he? Course if I'd been Mickey I'd've rung yer neck. But then I'm probably not you're type." He pushed his face into Delaney's. "Got a thing for blond boys then, have ya?"

"You can't do anythin' to me." Delaney sneered.

"I'm not doing nothin' to ya. We're just having us a chat." He leaned even closer to Delaney. "Aren't we, Reggiebabe?"

"Social intercourse is an important factor in our daily lives." Reg agreed.

"Exactly. Couldn't have said it better meself." He turned back to Delaney, "and it's funny that you mention intercourse, cos that's what I wanted to chat about actually. Now, see, Mickey, he's one of our own. You mess with him; you're messin' with all of us. Screwing his arse is like screwin' my arse, screwing his arse," he nodded towards Reg and then at the custody officer, "and his arse – _all_ our arses." He grabbed Delaney by his shirt and pushed him back against the wall. "Now you tell me why we shouldn't screw with _your_ arse?" He leaned right in, nose to nose. "Eye for eye and all that."

A wet stain spread across the front of Delaney's trousers.

Des looked down in disgust and backed away. "Oh now look at that. Had a bit of an accident there. Real popular in prison that. Wouldn't want to be sharin' the bottom bunk with you."

"Des."

Des looked around, then took Delaney's arm and began marching him out the cell. "C'mon you." He shot the sergeant a nod. "Le's see if we can't find ya some nappies."

* * *

At Rachel's house, Jack got out the car and walked round. Mickey got out too.

"You're doing the right fing." He told him.

Jack shook his hand. "You take care of yourself." He said and meant it: simple words but with a much deeper meaning.

"You too."

Jack drew him into a hug, patting his back. Then he let go. "You're the best officer I've come across in a long time." He said, sincerely. "And wherever you chose to go, they'll be lucky to have you."

A slight smile lifted the corner of Mickey mouth, pleased at the praise. It was good to see. "Well you never know, maybe…maybe we'll work together again some day."

"Oh I hope so." Jack turned to go. "See ya."

"Yeah…"

Jack began up the path.

"Jack!"

He turned on the doorstep.

Mickey met his eyes, another small smile playing on his lips. There was a long pause - nothing needed to be said - then… "Fanks."

Jack watched as Mickey got back into his car, started the engine and pulled out. He didn't knock on the door until the car was out of sight.

* * *

To be concluded…


	5. Coda Survival

Notes: Unlike previous sections, this is all original material and can be read as a stand-alone ending to 155. While the story wraps so well on screen that elaboration isn't necessary, I thought since I'd got this far and churned out over 340KBs, I'd earned the right to spank my mental monkey a bit and dot a few 'I's and cross a few 'T's…

Spoilers: The events of 156 are reflected here.

**Survival:**

**The Coda to**

**"One of Our Own"**

_by__ NorthernStar_

Mickey put his key in the lock and let himself into his home. Silence and emptiness greeted him and shutting the door behind him brought him a small measure of relief mixed with finality.

That was it – his years at Sun Hill over with.

Mickey chucked his bag down just inside the door and dropped his jean jacket on top. The warmth he'd felt from his goodbyes with Jack had begun to fade, leaving only space where feeling ought to be.

He walked into the living area and slumping on the sofa, limbs aching even more now the tension was out of them. Mickey laid his head back and closed his eyes. He was tired, bone deep tired and there was so much…_crap_…roiled inside him that he had to bite his lip to hold it back.

He couldn't deal with the hurt right now – the crawling sense of ugliness and dirt that seemed to stain him right through to his innards. But there just wasn't an end to it. He couldn't stop being him, couldn't change what had happened.

He opened his eyes, swallowed convulsively to ease the tightness in his throat, a gut reaction to the bleakness of his thoughts. He had nothing now. No job, no pride…no…

No respect.

Mickey sat forward, put his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands.

_God_…

Drawing a breath, he gave into his defeat and got up, heading for the kitchen. Mickey opened the fridge, bent and grabbed the six-pack from the back. He yanked a can off the plastic, opened it and took a swig.

Then another. And another.

His stomach protested dully but he gulped more of the bitter liquid down.

He was going to get drunk. He might not be able to rid himself of the shame curling inside him, nor change what he was, what he hadn't been able to stop. But he didn't have to deal with himself tonight.

Mickey Webb could be elsewhere for a while.

* * *

"I…don't understand." 

Jack got up from the sofa. He couldn't look Rachel in the eye. He sighed. "I'm sorry." The words seemed woefully inadequate.

"You're going to throw it all away? Everything we had?" Anger was fast overtaking her disbelief. "Over what? _Mickey_?"

There was no corresponding anger inside Jack. He could be honest. He owed her that much. "Partly."

"Jack, it won't change anything!" She came over to him. "He was still raped!"

"I know." Jack rubbed his forehead. "But that's not the only reason." He turned to look at her. "He's right. About us. He's been right all along, I just didn't listen."

She turned her back on him.

"I'm a copper, Rachel." He said, "and you're a-"

"Tart?" She spat the word. "You said it wouldn't make a difference. You promised."

"At the time I honestly thought it didn't. But it does." Jack sighed. "Maybe not to me, but to the people I work with."

"And that's more important than us?"

He looked down. "To some degree, maybe." He went to touch her. "I'm sorry."

"Don't touch me." She stepped away. "Just go…please."

He hovered a moment.

"Please?" She hissed, voice thick with unshed tears.

Jack sighed, and left the room, opened the door and went out.

At his car, he looked back once. But there was no regret in his heart.

* * *

Half way through his third can of beer, the doorbell rang. Mickey ignored it and drank some more, the alcohol hitting his empty stomach and buzzed round his system, bringing that easy heavy/light sensation of early intoxication. 

The bell rang again.

Mickey swallowed the last of his beer, squeezed the can and chucked it on the coffee table with the others. The bell rang again, this time the sound lasted for about ten seconds as the button remained under the callers thumb.

Mickey ignored it and reached for another beer.

There was a rattle, like something was being pushed through the letterbox. "Mickey?" Smithy's voice, full of wary concern, echoed strangely through the open flap. "You all right, mate?"

Mickey sighed and took another mouthful before going to answer the door. Smithy stood on the doorstep, with Gary just behind him.

Mickey leaned against the wall, blocking the doorway. "What do you want, ay?"

"We…er, we've come for yer clothes." Smithy said. "The ones you woz wearin' when…" He trailed off.

"Forensic evidence, like." Gary added, shifting from one foot to the other, a bundle of nerves.

Mickey's throat tightened at the sudden well of embarrassment, felt the heat on his cheeks as humiliation crawled its way through every inch of his body. "Yeah." He left the door open and walked to the cupboard under the stairs. "In 'ere."

He reached in and pulled out a black bin bag, dumping it in front of them. Smithy nodded to Gary who began tugging open the knot at the top with gloved hands.

Smithy looked at Mickey. "You all right, mate?"

An ugly thought crept in, that _now_ Smithy was concerned. Better late than never.

"The DCI says you put in fer a transfer."

"Yeah."

"Any idea where you're gonna go?"

Mickey shrugged, not looking at the sergeant or at Best, fumbling with the knot on the black bag. "Barton Street? Dunno."

Smithy's surprise was obvious. "Yeah…well…everyone'll be sorry to see yer go."

Mickey took another swallow of beer and tried not to sound bitter. "Yeah?"

Smithy frowned. "How many you had?"

"Not enough."

Gary finally undid the tie on the bag, fingers slipping on the thin plastic. Mickey choked as the odour hit him – sour blood and sweat and bodily fluids – and the smell of it was vivid, so very vivid, it was like being back there, with Delaney, twisting and crying and torn and shamed.

He turned abruptly; feeling every breath he dragged into his lungs like the air was made of lead, and stumbled into the living room. He closed his eyes, struggling against churning in his stomach.

"Mickey?" Smithy had followed him, concerned.

Mickey glanced back, keeping his eyes low, seeing only Smithy's feet. Covering himself, Mickey snagged a can from the table and held it out. "You?"

"Nah, not while I'm on duty, mate."

"You got the evidence bags?" Gary said as he came into the living room, the bin bag dangling from his hand.

"Yeah." Smithy held out the evidence bag.

Mickey's heart raced, trapped in the room. He couldn't leave. He couldn't watch this. He didn't want to see his clothes, didn't want anyone else to see them.

Gary pulled out Mickey's red "est. 1969" T shirt and placed them in the bag Smithy held open. It was crumpled and dirty and spotted with blood from the gash in Mickey's head but the sight of it was bearable. Next out was his black jeans, smelling so strongly of Delaney to Mickey that he took a trembling step backwards, swallowing convulsively to ease the tightness in his throat. His eyes darted between Smithy and Gary. Didn't they smell it?

As Gary dropped the jeans into the bag, Mickey's eyes caught on the dark patch where the fabric at the crotch had dried hard with blood and God knew what else. Mickey hid his face.

Gary continued to bag up Mickey's clothes. His black jacket came next, then his socks and shoes. The last thing out were the grey briefs he'd been wearing.

Gary gasped, going pale.

Mickey looked away, ashamed. The underwear was badly stained, hard and reddish brown with old blood.

Gary sealed the bag and held the label out for Mickey to sign. With a shaky hand, he took the pen and scribbled his signature to confirm the clothes inside were his.

Smithy's order was harsh. "Put 'em out in the car."

The sergeant's sharp order snapped Gary out of his horror and he quickly bagged the underwear.

"Sir." The young PC didn't even try to hide his relief at the dismissal, scuttling out of the house without another word.

"I'm sorry." Smithy said when Gary had gone. There was a depth of sincerity to his tone that Mickey couldn't recall hearing before.

Mickey's head lifted. "Not your fault." He drank some more, the increasing buzz from the alcohol dulling everything.

"Look, mate, I don't fink that's a good idea." Smithy gestured at the beer.

"Well I fink it's a great idea."

"Mickey…"

"Look, I've 'ad enough of your lectures, yeah?" He snapped. "You ain't my sarge anymore. And none of this would've 'appened if you 'adn't've gone shouting yer mouth off."

"I 'ad to tell the DCI. Someone woulda noticed somefing sooner or later. You were all over the place, Mickey."

"I wos 'andling it."

"No you weren't."

Mickey turned away. "Look you got wot you come for, yeah."

"Mickey…"

"I ain't gonna ask you again, all right?"

Smithy sighed and went to the door. He turned on the doorstep.

"Take care of yourself, yeah?"

* * *

Smithy returned to the area car and got in. Gary looked at him, a little ashamed of his reactions. "Sorry. About that, back there. Wasn't expecting that, that's all." He frowned even more. "All that blood…" 

Smithy looked back at Mickey's front door. "Not me you should be apologising too." His tone was sharp. His anger had to go somewhere.

"Yeah…" Gary followed Smithy's gaze and stared at the house too. "He's half paralytic all ready."

The sarge looked round at Best. "Wouldn't you be?"

"Yeah…Yeah, think I would." The ever present frown deepened. "You think we ought to tell the DCI? About Mickey drinking and all that?"

Smithy shook his head. "Nah…I fink 'e just wants to be left alone."

"Yeah…guess he would."

Smithy started up the car and drove off.

* * *

Mickey woke up face down on the sofa, still dressed; an empty beer can between his limp fingers. He groaned as he pushed up into a sitting position, the movement causing his head to throb. He rubbed his eyes, and then swiped at the sticky mass of dried drool around him mouth. 

The TV was still on, prattling about farmers and fields and badgers – and from the light streaming in the window he realised it was well past noon.

Mickey stumbled to his feet and made it to the kitchen despite the pressure inside his skull and the churning of his stomach. He filled the kettle, switched in on and scooped a load of coffee granules into a mug. Then he leaned on the surfaces and concentrated on standing up.

When the kettle boiled, he made himself the blackest coffee he could swallow. The bitterness made him retch, but he forced more down. He managed to get half way through the cup when his stomach rebelled and the liquid came straight back up.

He continued retching into the sink until his chest hurt. When it was finally over, Mickey slid down to sit on the floor.

* * *

"Ramani," Jack fell into step beside her. "Reg Hollis just brought in Craig Mayers. If you have a minute I need you to go down to custody-"

She stopped. "Actually, I was just going round to see Mickey. I assigned myself as his SOIT officer. I thought he might appreciate a familiar face." She told him. "And I was hoping to keep the number of officers who knew about the incident down to a minimum."

Jack smiled sadly. "Not much hope of that now."

Ramani nodded. Gossip had swept like wildfire around the station since the start of the shift. "There's some details I'd like to go over and since I can't see any problem with the CPS on this one, I'd like to discuss the possibility of his making a VPS."

Jack thought for a moment. "I'm not sure he'd agree."

"He's already been forced to make a major change in his career as a result of this and it barely been four days. I think that should impact on sentencing." But seeing the doubt lingering on the DCI's face, she paused. "Its just one of the options open to him, as is putting in a claim to CICA."

"I'll make sure he does that."

"There's also a number of organisations Mickey should be aware of." She paused. "Support groups, help lines and I'd like to take the opportunity to discuss counselling. Occupational Health has a NRMSAC counsellor on board. I think Mickey could benefit from her expertise."

Jack frowned. "You don't think it's too soon?"

"He needs help. Professional help." She stated. "The sooner he gets that, the better." Looking around, checking for listeners, Ramani took Jack to one side and lowered her voice. "He lost his mother recently and he was already under a great deal of stress. In itself, that is a lot to cope with. There's little doubt that will have a negative affect on his healing."

Jack felt a dead weight settle in his stomach. "Mickey wouldn't do anything stupid."

"I don't doubt that." Ramani half smiled. When she spoke again, her tone was softer, the sort of gentle voice she used with victims families – reassuring and supportive. Odd to hear it directed at him, but despite that, some of the rawness inside faded. "But the right sort of help can make all the difference. I don't think he has any other family members…"

"Not close family." Jack replied.

"All the more reason to take advantage of network of support available to him."

"He might need convincing."

She smiled. "That's my job."

He watched her leave. "Ramani?"

She stopped, turned.

"Tell…let Mickey know…" He trailed off awkwardly.

She smiled. "I will."

* * *

Mickey showered then climbed into bed, still damp and fell into a light sleep. He woke a few hours later, disoriented, heart racing, but didn't remember what he'd dreamt. Getting up, getting dressed took a great deal of effort. He didn't bother to shave or brush out his hair. 

Afterwards, he forced himself to take his prescriptions and made a jam sandwich to line his stomach. The cloying sweetness of the filling turned his stomach and after a few bites, he threw the rest in the bin.

* * *

There was a knock on Jack's door and a second later, Eva came in. 

"Guv, I just heard the news." She said. "About Mickey, I mean." She shook her head, frowning. "I can't believe it."

"No." He agreed.

"So, is 'e coming back? I mean, this is just compassionate leave, yeah?"

"No." Jack sighed and sat back in his chair. "He asked to be transferred."

"What, just like that?" She demanded. "Where to?"

"We don't know yet. He's got some family in Romford so maybe…"

"I doubt it. Stuff 'e's told me about his family." Eva paced a little. "I fink Mickey'd be better here, guv. I mean, 'e knows it wouldn't make a difference, what happened."

"Maybe." Jack looked down. She hadn't seen the tiredness in Mickey, the defeat, the…_shame_… Asking him to stay would have been selfish and cruel. "I think he thought it was the only avenue open to him. Fresh start."

"Yeah but…" Her shoulders slumped and she shook her head. "I'm gonna miss 'im."

Jack couldn't help smiling at the sentiment. He was going to be hearing that a lot over the next few days. "He was a good copper." He conceded.

"Yeah…" She sighed, still not believing it. "I just…I can't believe he never said goodbye."

"He just wanted to get out of here, Eva." Jack explained and felt a dull ache in his gut. "After we brought Delaney in, uniform all but broadcast everything he'd said to the nick…." He finished softly.

She sat down on the chair. "He didn't deserve this."

"No one does."

A moment passed and then Jack got up, hardening himself to his own feelings. "Come on. You might enjoy this." He said as he headed for the door. "I know I will."

Eva looked confused a moment then followed.

* * *

Delaney looked up as the door opened. His brief, a thin mousy man, frowned at this interruption and stood up to protest. Eva silenced him with a glare. 

Jack strode in, feeling a knot of angry satisfaction settle in his stomach.

"Martin Delaney…" He began, "I'm arresting you for the rape of Michael Webb."

"What is this?" The brief demanded. "My client has already been charged with assault and-"

"Well now you can add rape, sexual assault and another count of assault, this time of a police officer, to the list." Jack told him.

Eva stared at the blond man hunched over the table. "You're looking at another 10 years right there."

The brief bristled. "I need to see the-"

Without taking his eyes from Delaney, Jack cut him off. "I'll make sure you get everything you need." His eyes narrowed. "No mistakes are going to be made on this one. I'll see to that."

It sounded very much like a threat.

Delaney looked up at the small crowd around his table. The smile he gave them was weak and false.

His gaze fixed on Jack. "Mickey got a backbone then?" Then he chuckled. "Never would have thought it, the way he squealed like a pig getting f-"

"You filthy-!" Jack lunged for him. Delaney scooted out of the chair but Eva got between them and held the DCI back.

"That's not gonna help Mickey, guv." She told him. "Let's just read him his rights and go."

* * *

Mickey was lying on the sofa picking at the welts around his wrists when the door bell rang. He ignored it and continued poking at the scabs, fascinated by the vividness of the now fully developed bruises, and remembered how the ropes had felt digging into his skin, the pain as he'd struggled… The feeling of being tied, helpless… 

Bound…

Afraid.

There was tapping on the door, low but insistent thuds that jolted through him and he raised his head from the arm of the sofa. It felt a little like waking up.

Getting up, Mickey answered and found himself surprised to see Ramani on the doorstep. It hadn't really occurred to him, not consciously, but he was expecting Jack.

"Mickey, how are you?" She asked warmly. It sounded like the stupidest question she could ever ask.

But it didn't grate on his nerves like he might have expected. "Knackered." He answered and led the way into his house. "You want a coffee?"

"Tea if you've got it." She followed him into the kitchen and watched him fill the kettle. "I brought round some leaflets, organisations that might help."

"No fanks."

"They can understand what you're going through. Help you see a way though."

Mickey began pulling mugs from the cupboard, keeping his back to her. "Milk and sugar, yeah?"

"Yes to both." She regarded him, at least his lean back, tense and rigid. "There's a support group that meets every fortnight at the community centre on the Cockcroft. I know the man who runs it, Mark Fuller. He's-"

Mickey's hands paused in their tea making, sugar laden spoon hovering over the mugs. "One or two?"

"One. He's a very good counsellor." Ramani continued. "And it's a small group; I think there's about 7 or 8 members at the moment. You don't have to give your name; you don't even have to talk right away, if that's what you want."

A sodden teabag thudded into the bin, breaking her flow of words and the spoon rattled against the mug as Mickey stirred the tea.

"No." He said firmly, chucking the spoon into the sink next to the dirty cups already in there. The resulting clatter made her jump.

"Mark Fuller is very good at what he does. The groups had a lot of success with-"

"I don't give a toss what success 'e's had."

"Mickey, I know this must be very difficult for you right now but-"

"Wiv all due respect, sarge, you don't know anyfing. Not about me nor what 'appened." There was a nastiness to his tone she couldn't remember hearing before. "I don't want no bloody counselling and I certainly don't want to sit listenin' to a bunch of blokes moan about getting it up the arse." He slammed her tea down on the table, spilling some down his fingers. The burning felt strangely good.

"I know you find this hard to believe right now," she said calmly, "but talking about it does help."

"Yeah? Well it seems like I dun nufffing but talk about it since it 'appened. You, Smiffy, Jack…" The last name cracked out. "What, are you all sick or summick?"

"That's different, Mickey, and I think you know that. Smithy was genuinely worried about you, with good reason. And both the DCI and I had to interview you. The last thing any of us wanted was to violate your privacy any more than necessary. If we were over-zealous there, I apologise, but it's because we care about you."

Mickey looked down at the mug of tea he'd made himself, anger fading. He didn't seem to be able to concentrate on anything right now…not even emotion.

"I've brought you some information. It's mainly covering CPS and Sapphire policies. I know you think you know the procedures but I want you to read them any way. Everything you do know is from the standpoint of a police officer. It's amazing what you can miss when you're not the…"

His eyes flickered up. "The victim?"

"When it's just Met initiatives." She edited and reached into her bag. She pulled out a fat wad of leaflets and forms. "You can look at them in your own time. Maybe for just a few minutes, but don't just throw them away. Please."

Mickey spread the leaflets out, staring at the covers. Big letters declaring RAPE and SEXUAL ASSAULT accompanied by moody looking men, heads bowed away from the camera. He'd seen them a million times before. The posters plastered the walls of Sun Hill nick. But Ramini was right. It was different seeing them now as a victim, not as a copper passing them out, or parroting phrases from the bullet points.

He took a sip of tea, found it was cold. Had he been staring at the pamphlets that long? He looked up. Ramani was watching him.

She smiled. "I wondered if you'd thought about making a Victim Personal Statement?"

He looked down. "No." And swallowed, "hadn't thought. Maybe, I dunno."

"You don't have to make a decision now. Have a think about it. A lot of victims derive a great deal of comfort from having their concerns taken into account." Her fingers plucked at one of the papers in front of him. "I've also brought you Form MG19."

Mickey's eyes flickered to it. "What's the going rate for rape these days?" He asked bitterly.

"Mickey-"

His head came up. "How's the DCI?" He asked, cutting that line of conversation.

A small smile curved her lips. "He wanted me to let you know he's thinking of you."

They continued talking for a while, about work mostly, until the dull ache in his head turned into a roar as the painkillers wore off and he began to feel crowded and uncomfortable. He rubbed his eyes, tiredness burning. As if she knew he couldn't cope with more, Ramani got up and made her goodbyes. Before she left, she handed him her telephone number and told him to call if he needed to. He nodded but knew he wouldn't.

Left alone, Mickey took more medication and flopped on the sofa as the strong painkillers joined forces with his tiredness and sent in spiralling into sleep.

* * *

By the time Jack got home, it was nearly midnight. He poured himself a large scotch and swallowed a mouthful, feeling it burn all the way down. He sighed. In the space of 24 hours, he'd lost two of his best officers. 

Despite the suspicions being bandied about, he wished Danny well, wherever he was. And as for Mickey…

Jack's eyes fell on the telephone, knowing he couldn't call this late, but wanting to anyway - needing to hear Mickey's voice so he'd know that the young man was OK, not about to do something stupid.

_In the morning._ He told himself and finished his drink.

* * *

It was dark when Mickey woke, gasping and crying, legs clumsy as he stumbled to his feet ready to run but he only tumbled off the sofa to thud painfully on the floor. He kicked out in anger, hitting the coffee table, kicked again to up-turn it, spilling magazines everywhere. His face was screwed up and it felt like sobbing but he was just too bloody angry to know for sure. Mickey hauled himself to his feet and began kicking everything with earnest, the sofa, the table, his CD cabinet – seeing the fragile disks fall out with every kick, heard them crack beneath his feet. But it didn't calm the anger, couldn't take away the image tossed up by his dreams. 

And then the sob came out, breaking from his chest and he stopped, stood. Then collapsed on the sofa, missing the seat and sliding to sit on the floor. He put his face in his hands and wept.

He hadn't been alone in the warehouse in his nightmare. Jack had been there too, watching.

And he'd laughed…

* * *

He didn't really wake up next time. Mickey hadn't really been asleep, sitting with his forehead pressed against the arms resting on his drawn up knees amid the devastation of his living room. He'd dozed some, night hours ticking passed without his realising, for now there was light brightening the room. 

_Bring, bring…bring, bring…_

On the fifth ring, the answering machine clicked as it picked up. His own chirpy voice echoed in his head reciting the familiar message, "hi, this is Mickey Webb…"

Then the tone sounded.

"Mickey, this is Jack. I was hoping to catch you before work." There was a sigh. "Call me when you're up."

Mickey glanced at the phone in the hallway, thinking about calling his friend back. He shuddered. No. He had nothing to say to Jack.

Why couldn't he be left alone?

Climbing to his feet, Mickey picked his way through the mess and headed for the shower. He stayed under the spray until the water ran cold. He'd long since run out of soap so he used toilet bleach instead. The caustic fluid reddened his skin, stinging like bloody murder in all his cuts. It stank too, fumes combining with the steam in the bathroom to irritate his nose.

But it didn't matter. At least he was clean.

Getting out, he dressed in the thickest fleece he had, chilled inside despite the warmth of his home. He swallowed his pills with scalding coffee and stared out the window for a while, watching the cars swish by.

It seemed so much easier to stay here, in the house, cocooned in himself, but he felt the tug inside him that always drove him to his mother's grave. He wanted her smile, her warmth… But that of course was impossible. She was lost to him now.

Visiting her grave brought him some measure of comfort and that was what made him pick up his keys and wallet and leave the house. His stomach ached dully, reminding him he hadn't eaten breakfast, but it was vague and oddly comforting, and easily ignored.

* * *

Jack's mobile rang and he quickly pulled the little phone from his pocket. His eyes caught on the LCD screen showing the caller's number. 

It wasn't Mickey.

Damn.

He'd been waiting for the young man to call since he'd got into CID that morning, anxious to hear for himself that Mickey was OK. Away from the distraction of work, the young man had nothing but his own ordeal to think about. It frightened Jack more than he wanted to admit.

Jack had rung Mickey's house again at refs, but the only answer he'd received was the answer phone and his mobile was "unavailable."

Sighing, he answered the call.

* * *

Mickey sat down at the graveside and hugged his knees.

* * *

Jack had dialled Mickey's home phone number several times throughout the day, feeling the worry in his gut growing every time the answer phone picked up. Slamming the receiver down after his sixth attempt, Jack turned his attention to the report Ramani had filed after her visit with Mickey. He had already read through it a couple of times, but scanned his eyes over the words yet again, looking for something – anything- to tell him Mickey was doing OK. 

When DS De Costa brought him a copy of the files, he'd asked her how Mickey was, but the only response he got was more or less what was written in front of him.

"He's not answering my calls." He had told her.

"I wouldn't worry unduly." Ramani had replied. "He was very tired. It's only been a few days; it's understandable he needs time to come to terms with everything that's happened." She had rested her elbow against her knee as she leaned in. "He's been through a terrible ordeal, one we can't even begin to comprehend. But the important thing is, he came forward."

His gut had twisted bitterly. "Oh yes, mustn't send out the wrong message, must we?"

But she hadn't reacted to his sarcasm. "Important for Mickey." She corrected. "Bottling this up wouldn't have helped him, not in the long run."

"And now?"

"Making a statement took a lot of courage. He'll need more support than either of us can provide for what's ahead."

"The trial?"

"Partly." Her expression softened. "There's a good chance he won't have to testify." She told him. "Delaney admitted to the rape in front of witnesses."

The unspoken worry at the back of his mind finally found an out. "But not on tape."

"Maybe not. But I don't doubt he'll be advised to plead guilty."

"And if he contests even part of Mickey's statement?" He already knew the answer, but he asked it anyway, needing to put voice to the concern.

"Then he may have to take the stand." Ramani said. Then she must have seen the ache he felt at that thought in his eyes because she leaned in even further. "He won't go through this alone. And he's a strong young man." She smiled, "even more so, to command such respect from you."

Jack returned her smile, faintly embarrassed. But his mind had caught on something she'd said – can't begin to comprehend…

He couldn't, but…

Jack put the report away and got up. He was going to leave work early for once. There was someone he needed to see.

* * *

The peace of the graveyard was shattered by a funeral, muffled sobbing breaking through the wall of Mickey's thoughts until he was forced to wish his mother goodbye and walk, hunched over, passed the crowds. A woman mourner looked his way, raising her eyes from the gaping hole in the ground to catch his. A tiny smile curved her lips. 

It made him feel sick.

He got in his car and headed for home, stopping halfway at a garage for petrol and grabbed some sandwiches and a coke at the same time, more out of habit than anything else. He munched while he was driving, eating mechanically and it left him feeling uncomfortably full afterwards.

At his home, he stared at the broken CD's and mangled magazines, the sofa cushions scattered, coffee table up-ended for a long time before half-hearted tidying the mess away, chucking the unbroken and untorn things on the sofa and everything else in the bin. When he'd finished, he took more of his pills, grabbed the remote and flopped in front of the telly.

* * *

Jack trudged up the garden path and rang the doorbell. The person who answered smiled at him questioningly when they saw who it was, a better welcome than he was expecting if he was honest. That would probably change the moment he opened his mouth. 

"I need to talk to you…"

* * *

The doorbell pulled him from the documentary he was only half watching. Getting up, Mickey went to the door and opened it. 

The woman on his doorstep gave him a small, tired, almost unsure smile.

"Laura?"

Jack's wife smiled more confidently now. "Can I come in?"

Backing up, still shocked, he held open the door. "Yeah…sure. Um, tea, yeah?"

"That would be lovely."

He led her into the sitting room, finally throwing off the surprise at her visit. "If, er, if you looking for Jack, I ain't seen 'im. Not for a couple of days."

"No, I'm not looking for Jack." She said, sounding uncomfortable, "I…er…I saw him earlier as a matter of fact. He came round to see me."

Mickey's stomach clenched and he swallowed back the sudden tightness in his throat.

"Jack…jack told me what happened."

He looked down, horribly, horribly ashamed. He could feel her eyes on him, pitying him.

"I-I guess he thought I could understand what you're going through better than him." She continued. He didn't see her smile, but he heard it lacing her next words. "He really does care a lot about you."

Mickey couldn't resist looking up at that, seeing only honesty on her face.

Gingerly she stepped a little forward, hand reached out to touch his arm, hovering but never connecting. He understood the reluctance, knew all too well the crawling, shrinking sensation of contact; she wasn't strong enough for that yet.

Neither was he.

"I wish I could offer you some…comfort…like 'it'll get better' but I've heard that one a few too many times myself and it's not true." She told him. There was faint bitterness in her tone. "I'm not about to go lying to you."

He watched her through his lashes, head still bent.

She sighed, "oh I'm sure it does eventually." She looked away. "Hopefully. Just not now."

"I'm sorry." The words sounded so hollow but he meant them.

A little laugh escaped her, "oh love you've got nothing to be sorry for."

"Still…" But he trailed off, hunching in on himself.

She gestured towards the sofa. "May I?"

"Yeah, sorry." He jolted into movement, scooping up the magazines and rubbish on the sofa so she could sit. One fell from his nerveless fingers to clatter to the floor in a rustle of pages.

She studied Mickey as she took a seat, watching him shove the magazines on the nearest surface, dodging to give her a wide berth. "You're a lot like him." She told him.

Mickey froze. "Jack?"

She nodded. "When he was younger. I've noticed before." She smiled slightly. "I think he sees it too."

The anger slipped out before he could stop it. "Don't fink 'e likes wot he sees."

The smile turned rueful. "Probably not."

Mickey straightened up, bringing the uncomfortable topic to an end. He remembered he'd offered her tea. "Do you want a drink, yeah? Tea? Coffee?"

"Scotch if you've got it."

The request didn't surprise him as much as it ought. He nodded. "Yeah." He went to the cabinet and pulled out the bottle of pure malt he kept solely for his mother's use when she stayed. The memory slipped out without his realising. "Me mum liked her Scotch in the evenings." He told her and felt a dull ache as he thought of his mother.

"She passed away recently, didn't she?"

Softly. "Yeah." Mickey poured them both a large measure. "Hit and run."

"I remember Jack telling me. He was very worried about you." She took the glass he offered. "Thank you." And sighed. "He's worried now, Mickey. Don't be angry at him for confiding in me. He had you're best intentions at heart when he told me."

"I know." Mickey swallowed the whole contents of his glass down in one gulp. He thought fleetingly of the pills he taken, but didn't care.

A silence fell between them. Mickey played with his empty glass. Laura sipped at her drink slowly. After a while, Mickey sat on the other end of the sofa and stared into space.

Her voice broke the quiet, cracking badly on emotion. "It hurts, doesn't it?"

His reaction was immediate. Mickey screwed his face up against the tears that sprang up and threatened to spill humiliatingly down his cheeks, biting hard on his lower lip to hold them in, but they came anyway, tracking wetly across his skin to drip into his lap.

"Oh love…" She put down her drink and went to him, reaching out to pull him into her arms. The movement was awkward, almost jerky; touching no more comfortable for her as him right now, but doing it anyway. Needing to give into to the maternal instinct to nurture and protect just as much as Mickey needed that comfort and she realised with a pang that Jack was doing this as much for her as for the young man he'd been so worried over.

Sobs racked him and he leaned into her as the force of them robbed him of his strength. Her smell was different, sweeter than his mother's, classier in a way, but it didn't matter. Not really. She offered what he needed and he didn't have the strength anymore to refuse it.

* * *

Laura stroked the bent blond head of the young man almost lying in her arms. He'd fallen still and silent some time ago and although she couldn't see his face, she was pretty sure he was dozing. She smiled and her fingers tightened a little in Mickey's hair. 

For the first time in ever so long, it felt…_better_.

* * *

Mickey woke up to the sound of the post dropping through the letterbox. He barely remembered getting to bed after Laura left. After he'd pulled himself, embarrassed, from her arms, they'd talked. And after a time, he found himself telling her what happened between him and Delaney. Unlike what he'd told Jack – the cold facts and timeline necessary in a statement – the halting story he stumbled and shivered his way through with Laura was more visceral. She'd listened and nodded and never once judged him. 

Now though, in the light of day, he wondered if he should have told her all that. Who was he to add to her own distress?

But yet she'd asked. Taken the time to do this thing for him when God knows, he knew how difficult it was to think about, hear about…talk about...

He picked up the pile of mail and sorted through the envelopes – bill, bill, junk, bank statement and…

Mickey frowned at the last, recognising the standard issue envelope and opened it first, pulling out the contents. There was a wad of pages stapled together headed with the crest of the Metropolitan Police. His eyes scanned the papers, skipping the fillers to get to the meat.

Then he did something he hadn't done in days – Mickey chuckled, smile breaking his lips.

"MIT…" he whispered to himself.

**End**

For

the little girl I used to be,

the woman I'll never be because of her and also

for Jane –

I think of you often.

Glossary –

NRMSAC - National Register of Male Sexual Assault Counsellors

VPS – Victim personal statement

CICA – Criminal Injuries Compensation Authority

Form MG19 – application for compensation


End file.
